MRS.  MARY  W.  HUDSON. 


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ESTHER  THE  GENTILE 


BY 

MRS.  MARY  W.  HUDSON. 


TOPEKA,  KANSAS: 

OEO.  W.  CRANE  A  CO.,  PRINTERS  AND  BINDERS. 

1888. 


COPYRIGHT,  1888, 
BY  J.  K.  HUDSON,  TOPEKA,  KAB. 


TO  MY  HUSBAND, 

J.    K.    HUDSON, 

WHOSE  ENCOURAGEMENT  AND  APPRECIATION  HAVE  BEEN  THE  MAIN-SPRINGS  OF 

THIS  EFFORT,  AND  IN  WHOSE  COMPANIONSHIP  I  HAVE  LEARNED 

THE  BLESSINGS  OF  A  HAPPY  HOME  —  A 

WOMAN'S  BEST  INSPIRATION. 


ESTHER  THE  GENTILE. 


CHAPTER  L 


IN"  an  out-of-the-way  community  like  Pineborough 
there  are  not  many  students  of  character,  but  there 
are  always  to  be  found  some  odd  people  who  are  inter 
esting  studies  themselves,  and  who  immediately  attract 
the  attention  of  men  of  the  world  when  they  come 
in  contact  with  them. 

Ezekiel  Blounce,  the  teacher  of  the  district  school, 
was  one  of  these.  He  had  neither  family  nor  home, 
though  everybody  was  his  friend.  He  had  taught 
the  Pineborough  school  for  many  years,  and  during 
all  the  time  had  "boarded  round,"  in  the  fashion 
that  had  long  before  been  abandoned  in  more  enter 
prising  districts,  except  one  summer  when  he  was 
sick  and  Betty  Wainwright  nursed  him  in  her  spare 
room,  and  one  other  summer  when  he  went  away  on 
an  unannounced  and  mysterious  visit,  carrying  with 
him  only  a  change  of  linen  tied  up  in  a  bandana  hand 
kerchief  and  his  staff.  When  his  neighbors  and  the 
school  boys  whom  he  passed  on  the  road  that  sum 
mer  morning  asked  where  he  was  going,  he  only  an 
swered,  "On  a  little  jaunt;  Pll  be  back  before  you 
want  to  see  me." 

But  he  was  gone  three  months,  and  the  district 


'ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 


had  about  made  up  its  official  mind  that  a  new 
teacher  must  be  secured  for  the  winter  term,  when 
Ezekiel  Blounce  trudged  back  again,  deposited  his 
bundle,  apparently  neither  increased  nor  diminished 
by  an  ounce  weight,  in  his  small  "black  chist,"  as  it 
was  familiarly  known,  stood  his  stout  staff  in  the 
corner  of  the  kitchen  which  came  next  in  turn  as 
his  home,  and,  at  the  proper  time,  called  school  as 
if  nothing  had  happened. 

All  the  surmises  that  had  been  made  by  the  quiet 
country  folk  concerning  his  absence  were  wasted, 
and  they  had  had  so  little  else  to  think  and  talk 
about  than  the  routine  of  the  days,  the  weeks,  and 
the  crop  seasons,  that  the  old  man's  unexplained  re 
turn  seemed  almost  an  affront.  For  a  time  he  did 
not  seem  to  be  the  man  they  had  in  turn  imagined 
murdered,  and  drowned,  and  restored  to  a  lost  inher 
itance  and  a  grief-stricken  family.  The  closest  scru 
tiny  of  his  large-featured,  unimpassioned  face  failed 
to  make  a  hero  or  a  martyr  of  him  in  these  good 
people's  eyes,  and  they  respected  him  too  highly  to 
ask  any  questions.  He  had  been  the  architect  of 
every  barn  erected  in  that  region  since  his  advent 
there.  He  had  estimated  all  the  crops  and  intro 
duced  all  the  innovations  in  rotation  that  the  fields 
thereabout  had  known  for  years,  and  the  people 
trusted  him  wholly.  But  now  he  had  presumably 
been  out  in  the  world  where  he  had  seen  and  heard 
much  that  would  be  new  to  them,  but  of  which  he 
told  them  nothing,  and  time  alone  could  heal  their 
wounded  feelings. 


ESTHER    THE   O  EN  TILE. 


Mr.  Blounce  had  hardly  yet  recovered  from  this 
disturbance  of  the  estimation  in  which  he  had  so 
long  been  held  in  Pineborough,  when  something  else 
occurred  which  made  it  impossible  for  him  ever  to 
regain  his  old  interest  in  the  community. 

One  pleasant  afternoon  in  early  springtime  a 
young  man  strolled  up  to  the  little  school  house 
and  stepped  to  the  door  to  ask  for  a  cup  in  which  to 
take  a  drink  from  the  brook  close  by. 

A  little  pool  had  been  scooped  out  in  the  pebbly 
bed  and  a  rough  shelter  of  stones  built  up  on  the 
sunward  side  so  that  the  water  was  clean  and  cool 
and  quiet,  and  as  the  young  man  stooped  over  to  fill 
his  cup  he  caught  sight  of  his  reflected  self  and  hes 
itated  an  instant  to  look,  perhaps  to  admire,  when 
the  thought  must  have  come  to  him  that  that  was  a 
girlish  trick,  for  he  dashed  the  cup  into  the  mirror 
ing  surface.  "When  he  returned  to  the  door  Mr. 
Blounce  invited  him  in  to  rest,  but  he  was  not  tired, 
he  said,  and  preferred  to  sit  outside,  which  he  would 
do  if  it  was  nearly  time  for  school  to  close,  and  if 
the  teacher  would  then  have  leisure  to  give  him  a 
little  information  about  the  surrounding  country. 
Of  course  Ezekiel  Blounce  had  both  time  and  incli 
nation  to  impart  any  knowledge,  or  give  any  help, 
he  could,  and  the  stranger  accordingly  took  a  seat 
on  a  log  near  by  and  waited  for  the  school  to  be  dis 
missed. 

He  had  not  long  to  wait.  A  general  shuffling  of 
books  and  slates  and  feet,  announced  the  day's  tasks 
done,  and  a  huddling  group  of  little  girls  came  out, 


ESTHER   THE   GENTILE. 


some  with  their  sunbonnets  drawn  over  their  eyes 
and  shrinking  behind  their  mates,  and  some  with 
their  bonnets  under  their  arms  and  their  eyes  staring 
at  the  stranger  as  if  to  make  the  most  of  a  rare  op 
portunity.  Then  a  crowd  of  small  boys  pushed 
through  the  doorway,  all  at  once,  and,  instead  of 
huddling  together,  flew  off  in  as  many  tangents  as 
there  were  boys,  shouting,  tumbling,  jumping  and 
otherwise  exhibiting  their  various  accomplishments. 
Next  came  the  larger  girls,  showing  all  the  phases 
and  degrees  of  character  and  culture  the  rural  com 
munity  afforded,  for  here  came  high  and  low,  proud 
and  humble;  every  family  for  miles  around  was  rep 
resented  in  the  district  school.  The  young  man 
watched  this  group  with  some  more  interest  than  he 
had  the  others,  but  yet — he  had  the  self-possession 
to  congratulate  himself — with  remarkable  indiffer 
ence,  considering  that  it  was  composed  of  young  la 
dies  whose  ages  could  not  vary  far  on  either  side  of 
sweet  sixteen. 

"What  a  wonderful  difference  it  does  make,  where 
and  how,"  he  was  just  saying  to  himself,  in  a  cold 
and  philosophical  way,  when  he  caught  sight  of  one 
girl  who  seemed  caricatured  by  the  ungraceful  gar 
ments  and  heavy  shoes  which  fitted  the  others  well 
enough. 

"She  must  be  astray  here,"  he  thought;  "she  is 
like  a  wild  gazelle  in  a  flock  of  tame  sheep;  she  is 
evidently  not  one  of  the  natives.  Which  way  does 
she  go,  I  wonder — I" — "A  fine  evening,  sir,"  inter 
rupted  the  teacher,  who,  together  with  the  larger 


ESTHER   THE   Q  EN  TILE. 


boys,  had  by  this  time  come  out  unobserved  by  the 
soliloquizing  stranger. 

"Yes,  sir,  it  is  a  fine  evening  indeed,"  assented 
the  young  man,  pleasantly,  as  he  arose,  and  then, 
rather  awkwardly,  as  if  it  was  not  the  subject  he  in 
tended  to  speak  of,  he  said: 

"You  have  quite  a  large  school  for  so  isolated  a 
neighborhood." 

"Yes,  yes,  so  I  have,"  a  little  impatiently,  on  the 
part  of  the  teacher,  and  they  both  turned  to  look  af 
ter  the  departing  scholars. 

"I  noticed  a  young  girl  that — like  a — not  like  the 
others — she  was  with  those  large  girls,  a  tall,  slender 
— oh,  yes,  there  she  goes  down  the  road." 

The  varying  shades  of  expression  with  which  this 
disjointed  sentence  was  delivered  were  appreciated 
by  Mr.  Blounce,  and  his  amusement  was  so  apparent 
when  he  answered  that  the  stranger's  face  flushed 
quickly;  nobody  saw  it,  though,  for  the  scholars  were 
all  too  far  away  and  the  teacher  kindly  contemplated 
the  ground. 

"Oh,  that  is  Esther  "Wainwright,"  he  answered, 
comprehending  the  young  man's  wish;  "she  is  not 
like  the  others,  as  you  say." 

"And  that  young  fellow,  the  boy  with  her,  is  he  a 
brother?" 

"  Oh,  no ;  that  is  young  Barbold,  Tom  Barbold.  If 
you  knew  the  old  Squire,  or  any  of  the  blood,  as  you 
do  not,  I  reckon,  if  you  are  a  stranger  in  these 
parts,  you  would  know  Tom  by  his  walk.  Proud  as 
Lucifer,  and  not  lacking,  not  lacking,  unless  it  may 


6  ESTHER    THE  GENTILE. 

be  in  fellow-feeling.  Generations  of  riches,  you  know, 
will  dull  most  men's  sympathies  with  poverty  and 
struggle;  the  old  Squire  I  was  thinking  of;  Tom, 
there,  is  but  a  bit  of  a  boy;  nobody  can  tell  what  he 
may  make,  but  he  promises  to  follow  in  the  old 
tracks." 

"Are  these  families  connected  in  any  way — the 
"Wainwrights  and  the  Barbolds  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no;  bless  your  heart,  there's  a  gulf  as  deep  as 
the  Hellespont  between  them,  and  about  as  hard  to 
swim,  I  venture." 

"But  you  think  young  "What's-his-name  there  will 
attempt  it,  do  you  ?  " 

""Well,  an  old  man's  head  must  be  whiter  than 
mine  before  he  can  forget  that  he  was  once  young, 
and  there  are  no  barriers  inside  those  narrow  walls," 
pointing  to  the  school  house,  "even  between  Bar 
bolds  and  Wainwrights.  "What  do  you  think  about 
it?"  turning  sharply  to  the  stranger. 

"I?  Well,  I  have  not  had  much  chance  for  obser 
vation,  but  since  you  ask  me,  and  since  I  have  seen 
Hero,  I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  I  think  he'll  be  a 
fool  if  he  doesn't  try  it,  and  I've  a  notion  to  say  I'll 
swim  him  a  race." 

"Good!  you  show  a  knightly  spirit,  but  it  might 
only  make  trouble  for  all.  They  are  strangers  to  you 
and  you  to  them,  you  have  all  the  world;  what  brings 
you  here?" 

This  abrupt  demand  brought  the  hot  blood  to  the 
stranger's  face,  as  had  the  old  man's  first  question, 
but  this  time  a  little  of  anger  was  mixed  with  the 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 


blush  of  youth,  and  he  answered:  "  My  business,  sir; 
which  for  the  present  is  merely  to  botanize  a  little 
among  these  old  hills.  I  belong  to  the  surveying 
party  that  is  locating  the  new  railroad  down  the  creek 
valley,  and  I  wandered  off  here  because  we  were  de 
layed  in  our  work  and  had  a  day  off. duty,  and  now 
I  believe  I  have,  lost  my  bearings.  I  promised  to  re 
join  the  party  at  Rocky-ford  to-night  or  in  the  morn 
ing,  and  I  have  gone  up  and  down  hill  so  often  I  am 
confused.  Can  you  give  me  the  short  cut  to  that 
point?" 

"So  you  are  somewhat  of  a  scientist,  then?" 

"No,  I  cannot  claim  that  distinction,  but  I  have  a 
taste  for  finding  out  something  about  the  plants  and 
trees  of  different  parts  of  the  country.  Surveyors  are 
apt  to  pick  up  some  knowledge  of  that  kind,  as  well 
as  the  geological  formation  of  the  land  they  measure, 
you  know." 

"Are  you  a  practical  surveyor?" 

"Yes,  though  I  have  not  practiced  much.  I  was 
with  a  party  out  West  and  roughed  it  in  the  moun 
tains  and  alkali  deserts  one  summer,  and  I  learned 
several  things  then;  in  fact,  if  the  truth  must  be 
told,  I  am  a  kind  of  Jack  at  all  trades,  not  very  good 
at  any." 

"A  bad  recommendation  for  a  young  man.  "What 
else  have  you  done?" 

"I  spent  six  months  in  a  law  office  in  H once, 

and  while  I  was  there  I  learned  to  know  your  hand 
writing  very  well.  Mr.  Blounce,  I  believe,"  the 
stranger  said,  bowing  with  an  ease  of  manner  becom- 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 


ing  an  older  man.  "Judge did  a  great  deal 

of  business  for  the  farmers  all  down  through  this 
country,  and  we  handled  papers  of  various  kinds, 
wills  and  other  legal  documents,  which  you  had  writ 
ten  and  to  which  your  name  was  attached  as  a  wit 
ness.  I  recognized  your  name  when  I  was  talking  to 
the  men  at  work  in  the  field  yonder;  they  said  you 
taught  the  district  school.  If  you  were  to  take  a  fee 
for  all  the  legal  work  you  do  it  would  bring  you  quite 
an  income,  I  should  think." 

"Yes,  yes,  perhaps  it  would;  but  if  I  had  charged 
a  fee  for  all  the  things  I  might  have  done  in  this 
world  and  have  not  done,  I  should  be  as  rich  as  Croe 
sus." 

"  Oh,  no  offense,  I  hope.  I  want  to  ask  you  a  little 
more  about  that  young  lady,  Miss  Wainwright,  before 
I  go.  Does  she — " 

"I  have  nothing  more  to  tell." 

"Why,  what  is  she  to  you,  Mr.  Blounce?" 

"  No  more  than  she  is  to  you ;  but  she  is  a  poor, 
motherless  girl,  who  might  almost  better  be  father 
less,  too,  for  that  matter." 

"Does  the  old  wretch  abuse  her?" 

"No,  no,  not  that;  he  thinks  the  world  of  her.  I 
believe  the  poor  fellow  looks  upon  Esther  more  as  an 
angel  than  as  a  human  being.  But,  you  see,  he  is  a 
little  weak  here,"  tapping  his  own  massive  head. 
"Comes  of  good  stock,  too — the  "Wainwrights;  no 
better  to  be  found  here  forty  years  ago ;  but  Elias  was 
the — not  the  black  sheep,  exactly,  for  he  is  as  innocent 
as  a  lamb,  but  the  weakling  of  the  flock.  He  did 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 


what  none  of  his  smart  brothers  had  the  sense  to  do, 
however.  He  married  a  good  little  woman,  who  was 
as  tough  as  a  nut,  and  with  wits  enough  for  both  of 
'em.  Some  people  wondered  that  Betty  Simpson 
would  have  him,  but  there  is  a  kind  of  fascination  in 
an  aristocratic  name,  even  for  a  sensible  woman;  it 
is  something  like  marrying  a  title;  and  so  Betty  mar 
ried  him,  for  that  or  some  other  reason,  maybe  be 
cause  she  really  loved  him.  I  will  not  say  it  was  not 
that,  for  she  was  always  a  good  wife  to  him.  She 
was  not  a  pretty  girl,  but  she  had  bright  black  eyes 
and  a  cheery  look  about  her.  She  managed  the  farm 
mainly,  after  they  were  married,  and  managed  it  well, 
and  she  saved  herself  and  her  family  from  a  great 
trouble  a  few  years  ago,  and  their  good  name  from 
everlasting  disgrace." 

"Why,  how  was  that?"  the  stranger  ventured, 
hoping  that  since  the  old  man's  tongue  was  loosed 
he  might  be  led  in  this  roundabout  way  to  the  sub 
ject  of  which  he  had  said  he  had  no  more  to  tell. 
And  sure  enough  he  went  on  to  say: 

"When  the  main  line  of  the  railroad  was  built 
through  this  part  of  the  country,  the  contractors 
brought  a  lot  of  Welsh  people  here  to  work  at  the 
grading.  Many  of  these  men  had  their  families  with 
them,  and  they  made  quite  a  settlement  down  in  the 
bottom  lands  beyond  Rocky-ford,  and  while  they  were 
there  a  party  of  immigrants,  their  countrymen,  too, 
just  over,  joined  them,  and  settled  down  temporarily 
in  board  shanties  and  a  kind  of  barracks  they  put  up, 
while  their  leaders  looked  about  for  a  permanent  lo- 


10  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

cation.  It  happened  that  a  hard  winter  came  on 
early  that  season,  so  that  they  could  not  do  much  but 
huddle  together  to  keep  warm,  and  while  they  were 
all  there  some  Mormon  elders  came  among  them 
proselyting.  They  had  not  done  much  at  this  work 
openly  in  the  United  States  for  several  years  pre 
vious;  it  was  too  soon  after  the  Joseph  Smith  excite 
ment.  You  do  not  remember  that;  but  after  the 
exposure  of  his  depravity  they  let  the  subject  die 
down  a  little  in  this  country,  and  brought  most  of 
their  converts  from  England,  and  Wales,  and  Scot 
land,  as  they  do  yet.  But  these  two  elders,  as  they 
called  themselves,  had  been  across  the  water  and  got 
a  kind  of  hold  on  these  "Welsh  people  in  the  old 
country,  and  when  they  came  over  here  they  followed 
it  up,  and  converted  dozens  of  them,  too,  some  of  the 
wealthiest  among  them.  One  old  man  had  £4,000  in 
good  English  money,  and  they  got  it  all,  and  him  in 
the  bargain.  To  the  poorest  of  them  they  promised 
farms  and  cattle  if  they  would  go  out  to  the  Land  of 
the  Honey  Bee.  But  I  am  getting  off  my  story.  It 
got  to  be  quite  the  fashion  to  go  to  the  Mormon 
meetings.  The  people  for  miles  around  became 
curious  to  hear  what  could  be  said  in  defense  of 
polygamy,  that  being  the  dominant  idea  in  their 
minds  connected  with  Mormonism;  and  when  they 
went  to  the  meetings,  and  never  heard  that  subject 
even  remotely  alluded  to,  but  instead  listened  to 
warm  appeals  to  come  into  the  Church  of  the  Latter 
Day  Saints,  and  espouse  the  revealed  religion,  and 
accept  the  great  worldly  advantages  that  would  be 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 


secured  to  them  in  Utah,  many  of  them  were  con 
verted,  and  among  them  was  poor  Elias  Wainwright. 
He  is  just  the  man  to  be  influenced  by  religious  ex 
citement,  and  if  it  had  not  been  for  his  wife  he  would 
have  gone  off  with  them,  sure.  As  soon  as  she  found 
out  that  the  meetings  were  really  making  an  im 
pression  upon  his  mind,  she  insisted  upon  going  with 
him  whenever  she  could  not  prevail  upon  him  to  stay 
at  home.  But  they  succeeded  in  making  a  believer 
of  him,  and  it  was  finally  only  her  determined  refusal 
to  go  with  them  to  Utah  that  kept  him  here.  There 
was  a  good  deal  of  talk  about  stopping  the  meetings 
and  lynching  the  elders,  but  it  did  not  amount  to  any 
thing  more  than  talk;  there  was  no  charge  upon 
which  they  could  be  arrested  and  tried.  They  were 
smart  enough,  too,  to  get  out  of  the  way  before  the 
excitement  ran  too  high.  Betty  Wainwright  always 
claimed  that  her  husband  had  entirely  recovered  from 
his  Mormon  folly,  but  there  are  others  who  say  he 
never  has,  and  the  elders  claimed  that  no  one  ever 
does,  or  that  if  one  loses  faith  for  a  time  he  is  sure 
to  return  to  it  sometime;  that  they  are  like  the  Jews 
—  once  a  Jew  always  a  Jew,  once  a  Mormon  always 
a  Mormon.  Of  course  I  do  not  believe  that  nonsense, 
but  I  know  that  when  Elias  Wainwright  lost  his  good 
wife  he  lost  the  best  half  of  himself." 

"She  is  dead,  then?" 

"Yes,  she  is  dead.  She  took  cold  two  or  three 
years  ago  and.  never  got  over  it.  She  was  a  hard 
worker,  and  thought  she  was  proof  against  serious 


12  ESTHER    THE  O  EN  TILE. 

sickness,  but  she  proved  to  be  mortal  like  the  rest  of 
us." 

The  old  man  leaned  forward  and  rested  his  head 
on  his  hands  as  they  were  clasped  over  the  knob  of 
his  staff,  and  seemed  to  give  himself  up  to  the  con 
templation  of  Mrs.  Wainwright's  domestic  virtues  and 
to  his  sorrow  over  her  untimely  taking  off. 

Suddenly  the  stranger  started  and  uttered  an  ex 
clamation  that  caused  Mr.  Blounce  to  look  up  at  him 
in  amazement. 

"It  must  be  the  same,"  he  said,  "the  very  same 
man  we  heard  travelers  talking  of  at  the  little  coun 
try  tavern  where  we  put  up  last  night.  There  were 
two  guests  besides  ourselves  who  seemed  to  have  a 
great  deal  to  talk  about;  they  sat  out  under  the  trees 
on  a  rustic  bench  till  late  in  the  night.  They  seemed 
respectable  enough,  well  dressed,  common  sort  of  men, 
who  looked  as  though  they  might  be  pork  or  wool 
buyers,  strangers  evidently;  but  I  remember  now  the 
last  thing  I  heard  before  going  to  sleep,  as  I  lay  near 
an  open  window  in  the  second  story,  was  the  sound  of 
their  voices,  and  one  of  them  said  with  a  good  deal 
of  emphasis,  'Well,  he'll  go  this  time.  I've  got  him 
fixed.  The  girl  is  all  that  troubles  me.  She'll  make 
a  fuss,  I  calculate,  but  I  guess  we  can  manage  her.' 
Then  they  went  on  to  say  that  he  was  a  firm  be 
liever  long  ago,  and  something  about  the  New  Zion, 
and  I  paid  no  more  attention  to  them.  I  had  just 
thought  that  I  was  about  to  hear  some  secret  romance 
when  they  began  to  talk  of  religion,  and  I  suppose  I 
soon  fell  asleep.  Let  me  see:  I  must  have  heard 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  13 

them  say  something  about  coal,  too.  Coal,  coal  — 
yes,  but  the  whole  conversation  is  confused  in  my 
mind  now;  I  was  half  asleep  all  the  time." 

The  old  teacher  looked  up  at  the  stranger  aghast, 
and  when  he  had  ceased  speaking  groaned  aloud  as 
if  a  great  weight  had  fallen  upon  him,  and  then  said 
in  a  broken  voice : 

"  My  God,  my  God,  they  are  after  him  again." 

His  head  fell  upon  his  hands  again,  and  the  youug 
man  saw  that  he  shook  in  every  limb.  There  was 
nothing  he  Could  do;  no  consolation  he  could  offer; 
he  could  not  understand  the  old  man's  deep  feeling 
for  this  girl  and  her  father;  he  could  only  stand  and 
wait,  almost  frightened  at  the  grief  he  had  caused. 
With  a  spasmodic  effort  Mr.  Blounce  stood  up,  and 
with  an  attempt  at  his  former  abruptness,  said: 

"I  can  not  talk  of  this  to-night.  I  must  think. 
Is  it  possible  that  you  are  interested  at  all  in  this 
girl?  Will  you  meet  me  here  in  the  morning?" 

"Whether  I  was  interested  at  all  in  Miss  Wain- 
wright  before  or  not,  the  story  you  have  told  me  of 
her  father  and  the  Mormons  would  interest  me  in 
her  now.  I  told  you  I  had  been  out  West,  and  I 
know  something  of  their  doings  in  Utah.  If  I  can 
help  you  in  any  way  to  save  this  girl  you  have  but 
to  command  me." 

"I  will  be  here  early  in  the  morning,"  the  old  man 
said ;  and  without  a  word  of  parting,  or  even  so  much 
as  a  glance  at  the  young  stranger,  Ezekiel  Blounce 
walked  heavily  down  the  road.  So  long  as  he  was 
in  sight  his  astounded  companion  stood  and  looked 
2 


14  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE, 

after  him.  He  moved  as  though  he  had  been  set  go 
ing  by  some  involuntary  power,  turning  neither  to 
the  right  nor  to  the  left,  never  raising  his  eyes  from 
the  ground  nor  his  empty  left  hand  from  his  side, 
where  it  hung  motionless.  A  chance  observer  would 
have  thought  him  but  a  dull  and  weary  old  man,  if 
he  had  thought  of  him  at  all;  but  the  stranger  whom 
he  had  left  so  unceremoniously  knew  that  within  that 
breast  lay  a  picture  so  vivid  that  it  absorbed  every 
faculty.  The  old  man  knew  not  the  familiar  trees 
and  meadows,  nor  the  passers  by;  his  vision  was 
turned  inward  upon  a  scene  so  sharply  retouched 
that  it  blinded  him  to  all  else;  some  old  memory, 
never  forgotten,  perhaps,  but  for  many  years  so  ha 
bitually  crowded  down  that  when  something  forced 
it  uppermost,  it  took  possession  of  him  like  an  evil 
spirit.  The  occupants  of  the  house  in  which  he  had 
his  home  at  that  time  saw  him  pass  by,  on  and  on 
down  the  dusty  road  until  the  woods  enclosed  him; 
but  none  of  them  thought  it  strange;  he  was  accus 
tomed  to  take  long  walks.  After  he  was  out  of  the 
sight  of  the  stranger,  that  young  gentleman  folded 
his  slouch  hat  for  a  pillow,  locked  his  hands  together 
behind  his  head  and  lay  down  on  the  log  to  think, 
also. 

About  the  old  man?  Yes,  for  a  time,  for  he  had 
impressed  him  strongly  and  strangely.  He  tried  to 
imagine  what  kind  of  a  life  he  had  lived,  what  it  was 
that  connected  him  with  these  people — the  Wain- 
wrights — and  then  to  think  of  himself  as  a  lonely 
old  man.  But  he  had  seen  a  vision  that  makes 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  15 

youth  powerless  to  comprehend  old  age  as  applied  to 
itself.  Others,  perhaps  some  among  his  friends,  must 
live  this  old  man's  life  over  again;  but  he!  he  was 
strong,  confident;  he  had  a  hundred  great  expecta 
tions;  the  world  was  before  him,  the  old  man  had 
said,  and  he  was  free  to  choose.  There  was  no  rea 
son  why  he  should  seclude  himself  in  a  lonely,  quiet 
place  like  this,  and  live  without  home  or  aught  that 
he  could  call  his  own,  a  wifeless  and  childless  old 
man.  He  had  never  thought  of  that  fate  as  espe 
cially  sad  before,  nor  thought  of  it  at  all,  perhaps; 
but  now  nothing  he  could  imagine  seemed  so  sad  as 
this  old  man's  lonely  lot.  Surely  his  could  never  be 
such;  he  would  order  it  otherwise.  It  was  true  he 
had  not  found  the  queen  whom  he  did  not  seek,  but 
who,  he  trusted,  would  some  day  appear,  who  was  to 
be  the  sun  which  should  glorify  his  existence,  and  for 
whose  sweet  sake  all  his  ambitions  would  be  pros 
pered,  unless — and  for  the  first  time  the  flight  of  his 
free  fancy  seemed  tethered  by  an  intangible  some 
thing,  an  invisible  cord,  that  would  have  snapped  in 
twain  with  a  breath,  had  it  not  passed  through  the 
hand  of  that  graceful  girl  with  the  plain  name  and 
the  homely  dress.  As  he  closed  his  eyes  and  tried 
to  look  oft' — as  he  was  fond  of  doing,  being  some 
thing  of  a  dreamer — into  the  unexplored  fields  of 
his  after  years,  and  to  trace  for  himself  a  prosperous 
journey  over  the  golden  highways  of  his  imagination, 
he  found  he  must  first  go  by  way  of  the  narrow  lane 
in  whose  shaded  depths  Esther  Wainwright  had  dis 
appeared.  He  had  seen  her  but  a  moment — he  was 


16  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

perfectly  conscious  of  that — but  every  line  of  her 
sweet  face,  every  motion  she  made,  was  photographed 
on  his  mind.  He  saw  her  eyes  fall  before  his  own 
after  the  swiftest  stolen  glance;  he  remembered  the 
white  parting  in  her  hair,  and  the  smooth  waves  over 
her  temples;  the  oval  of  her  cheek  reminded  him  of 
the  loveliest  Madonna  face  he  had  ever  seen. 

Thus  he  took  up  the  sweet  burthen.  Some  learn 
to  love;  others  see,  as  a  vision,  the  bright  spirit  that 
enters  in  and  makes  home  of  the  heart. 

The  stranger  lay  still,  forgetful  of  all  about  him. 
The  sun  sank  low  behind  the  hills,  the  shadows 
deepened  in  the  forest,  and  the  whip-poor-will's 
mournful  note  took  up  his  last  thought  and  repeated 
it  strangely,  "Life  is  good,  there  is  no  ill  except  we 
make  it."  Farther  and  farther  off  echoed  the  weird 
refrain  until  he  heard  it  no  more. 


CHAPTER  H. 


WHEN"  the  young  man  awoke,  far  in  the  night,  he 
knew,  though  he  had  heard  it  in  his  sleep,  that 
he  had  been  aroused  by  a  human  voice,  but  whose  or 
where  it  was  he  could  not  think.  He  could  not  even 
make  out  where  he  was  himself,  for  a  time.  But  as 
the  leaves  and  branches  took  shape  around  him,  and 
the  stars  revealed  themselves  above,  he  recollected 
the  incidents  of  the  evening,  and  comprehended  that 
he  had  fallen  asleep  on  the  log.  It  was  as  still  as  a 
night  in  the  forest  ever  is;  not  a  breeze  stirred,  but 
the  little  night  animals  ran  with  swift  feet  here  and 
there  among  the  bushes,  all  unsuspicious  of  an  in 
truder's  presence.  A  horned  and  tawny  owl  flapped 
its  wings  and  circled  round  a  tree  near  him,  catching 
nocturnal  insects,  and  as  he  rubbed  his  eyes  and 
watched  it  he  remembered  that  it  was  the  favorite  of 
Minerva,  and  that  the  ancient  Athenians  regarded  it 
with  veneration,  and  considered  it  a  bird  of  good 
omen. 

"  So  may  it  prove  to  me,"  he  added  aloud,  and  then 
started  at  the  sound  of  his  own  voice,  because  there 
was  no  one  to  answer  it. 

The  whip-poor-will  had  sung  itself  to  sleep,  and 
the  air  seemed  heavy  and  oppressive.  He  was  just 
thinking  to  himself  that  it  must  be  the  calm  before  a 
storm,  when  the  tree  frogs  set  up  their  ominous 

(17) 


18  ESTHER   THE   GENTILE. 

croak,  and  the  sound  was  echoed  and  reechoed  from 
everywhere.  Then  he  knew  it  was  time  to  seek  shel 
ter.  He  had  intended  to  find  lodging  in  some  farm 
house  near  by,  but  it  was  too  late  for  that  now.  The 
thunder  began  to  roll,  more  under  the  ground  than 
above  his  head,  he  thought.  A  hissing  sound  came 
from  the  tree  tops,  and  they  began  to  writhe  in  a  sud 
den  wind.  The  sultry  air  which  a  moment  before 
had  held  him,  with  all  nature,  in  a  sort  of  stupor, 
was  quickly  filled  with  the  subtle  life  that  flashed 
from  the  coming  storm,  and  every  living  thing  disap 
peared  in  the  thick  foliage  as  the  stars  went  out  be 
hind  the  spreading  cloud. 

The  stranger  had  fairly  gathered  his  wits  by  this 
time,  and  hastily  found  his  way  to  the  school  house. 
He  raised  his  hand  to  try  the  latch,  resolving,  mean 
while,  to  break  a  window  if  he  could  not  make  an 
entrance  otherwise,  when  a  flash  of  lightning  just 
behind  him  showed  the  door  wide  open,  and  some 
one  within.  He  had  time  neither  to  ask  nor  to 
conjecture  who  it  was;  the  wind  was  driving  hard 
against  him,  and  great  drops  of  rain  came  splash 
ing  in  his  face.  He  stepped  inside,  and  found  that 
the  rain  followed  him  for  several  feet;  he  moved  out 
of  its  course  and  waited  for  the  lightning  to  give  him 
another  view  of  the  interior  and  of  its  occupants,  if 
it  really  had  any  besides  himself.  He  had  but  an  in 
stant  of  suspense  before  the  light  seemed  to  enter 
like  a  gleaming  blade  and  sweep  round  the  little  room 
and  out  again  as  swiftly  and  mysteriously  as  it  came. 
What  he  saw  while  it  flashed  was  the  old  teacher 


ESTHER    THE  GENTILE.  19 

sitting  in  his  accustomed  place  behind  the  high 
sloping  desk,  his  head  bowed  in  his  gnarled  and 
wrinkled  hands,  oblivious  to  him,  to  the  storm,  to 
everything  outward.  The  stranger  hesitated  to  dis 
turb  him,  but  fearing  that  he  might  startle  him  by 
closing  the  door  to  keep  out  the  fast  increasing  storm, 
he  ventured  to  ask  if  he  might  remain  until  the  rain 
was  over,  and  then  added  apologetically  that  he  had 
fallen  asleep  where  he  had  left  him  the  evening  be 
fore.  The  teacher  heard  the  voice,  but  did  not  seem 
to  comprehend  anything  it  said,  for  he  called  out  in 
a  loud  tone,  "  Who's  there?" 

"  The  stranger  with  whom  you  talked  last  evening. 
Can  I  have  shelter  with  you  until  the  storm  is  past?" 
the  young  man  repeated,  but  the  only  answer  he  re 
ceived  was  a  long  sigh,  and  "Ah,  I  did  not  expect 
you  so  soon,"  and  then  sternly,  "  Come  again  when 
it  is  broad  daylight." 

Evidently  the  old  man  had  heard  nothing,  only 
that  he  had  come,  so  he  shut  the  door  and  sat  down 
near  a  window,  where  he  could  watch  the  storm. 

The  lightning  was  now  a  continuous  yet  ever- 
changing  glare,  and  the  terrific  force  of  the  wind 
bent  the  great  trees  before  it  until  they  looked  as  if 
they  must  break;  the  tottering  old  chimney  fell  with 
a  crash  on  the  roof  and  rolled  to  the  ground,  and  yet 
the  old  man  moved  not,  nor  spoke. 

The  stranger  was  fascinated  by  the  awful  scene, 
and  strained  his  eyes  to  watch  the  writhings  of  the 
stiffened  branches,  which  seemed  like  live  things  in 
the  contest.  Amidst  it  all  he  observed  how  pliantly 


20  ESTHER   THE   GENTILE. 

the  saplings  bent  almost  to  the  earth,  and  lay  safe 
in  their  non-resistance  while  the  fury  of  the  storm 
passed  over.  And  then  he  reflected  that  thus  the 
storms  of  life  pass  harmlessly  over  youth;  that  pain 
and  sorrow  depress  the  young  quickly  and  easily,  but 
like  the  sapling  they  rebound  with  the  clearing  of  the 
sky,  and  stand  upright,  ready  and  defiant  for  the  next 
battle.  Once,  as  he  watched,  he  saw  the  tawny  owl 
whirled  from  a  great  oak  and  past  him  in  the  clutches 
of  the  storm,  and  then  came  a  thunderbolt  that 
numbed  him  to  all  sense  and  sound.  A  crash  that 
was  not  heralded  by  flash  or  rumble,  a  dart  so  swift 
and  close  his  brain  was  stunned,  and  he  neither  saw 
nor  heard. 

When  his  dazed  wits  began  to  return  he  saw  that 
the  storm  was  broken.  The  thunder  still  muttered, 
but  it  rolled  away  in  the  distance  and  left  him  alone 
in  the  ghostly  dawn,  for  the  old  teacher,  too,  was 
gone;  he  had  fled  like  a  dream,  less  real  than  the 
raging  night  of  storm,  and  far  less  comprehensible  to 
the  young  man.  The  stranger  had  discovered  him 
self  lying  prostrate  on  the  floor,  and  when  he  arose 
and  started  towards  the  door  he  found  he  could  with 
difficulty  support  himself;  he  shook  in  every  limb 
and  would  have  fallen  but  for  the  support  of  the  rude 
benches.  The  door  stood  open  again,  showing  that 
the  old  man  had  gone  out  in  the  same  state  of 'ab 
straction  that  possessed  him  when  he  entered,  and 
leading  from  it  were  the  tracks  of  his  unsteady  feet 
in  the  wet  earth.  The  young  man  sat  down  wearily 
on  the  threshold  as  if  he  could  go  no  farther,  but  in 


ESTHER   THE   GENTILE.  21 

a  moment  he  was  aroused  by  the  waking  forest.  The 
filmy  storm  fringe  was  rent  here  and  there  by  the  tar 
rying  wind,  and  through  it  the  sky  of  early  morning 
was  revealed,  seeing  which,  the  birds  fluttered  on 
their  perches  and  sent  up  an  ave  from  every  tree. 
From  far  and  near,  and  high  and  low,  piped  the 
sweet  thrush;  the  linnet  twittered  its  treble;  the  lark 
flew  from  its  drenched  couch  and  darted  into  the 
sky  caroling  its  morning  song;  the  robin  chirped 
her  domestic  pip,  pip;  the  oriole  swung  lightly  from 
its  suspended  nest,  and  sent  from  the  slender 
branches  a  shower  of  heavy  drops  with  which  they 
were  yet  laden;  the  tiny  wren  warbled  its  unexpected 
score;  the  quaint  sweetness  of  the  cat-bird's  voice  — 
the  mocking  bird  of  the  north — was  carried  from 
bush  to  bush  and  echoed  by  its  cheerful  mate;  the 
blue-bird  and  the  red-bird  fluttered  from  tree  to  tree 
like  rays  of  the  coming  glory;  the  darkness  and  the 
storm  were  past,  life  and  joy  were  resurrected,  and 
gave  new  strength  to  him  who  had  experienced  such 
a  strange  and  memorable  night. 


CHAPTER  IIL 


WITH  the  fullness  of  day  our  young  friend  felt 
a  greater  return  of  his  strength  and  knew 
that  he  had  only  been  stunned,  but  he  felt  also  the 
need  of  some  breakfast  before  his  interview  with 
the  old  teacher,  so  he  started  off  towards  Rocky-ford, 
intending  to  get  something  to  eat  on  the  way,  and 
then,  if  he  felt  inclined,  go  on  and  report  to  his 
comrades  and  return  to  the  school  house.  It  would 
be  but  a  walk  of  a  couple  of  miles,  and  that  was 
nothing  to  him.  His  breakfast  refreshed  him  greatly 
and  he  sped  over  the  dewy  fields  with  buoyant  step. 
Rocky-ford  was  a  little,  clustering  village,  lodged 
at  the  foot  of  a  great  tree-covered  hill.  It  boasted  a 
small  tavern;  a  Post-0  ffice-store;  a  smith-shop;  a 
small  red  meeting  house,  with  a  modest  spire  set 
squarely  in  the  middle  of  the  roof,  and  a  double  front 
door  flanked  by  two  substantial  scrapers  whose  goodly 
heap  of  mud  chips  testified  to  a  church-going  neigh 
borhood;  a  doctor's  sign ;  a  low  window  from  which 
hung  suggestively  a  quarter  of  sole  leather  and  a 
tattered  boot;  and  the  name  of  "Jane  Winn,  Milliner 
and  Dressmaker,"  on  the  smallest  and  neatest  house 
in  the  street.  There  was  just  room  for  these  impor 
tant  business  establishments  on  the  narrow  terrace 
which  lay  a  few  feet  above  the  creek  bottom.  The 
comfortable  houses  where,  presumably,  the  minister, 

(22) 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  23 

the  postmaster,  the  blacksmith,  and  their  principal 
patrons  lived,  were  built  over  cellar-kitchens  on  the 
sloping  hillside,  higher  up,  and  a  few  cabins  where, 
evidently,  that  portion  of  the  population  lived  from 
which  future  census  returns  must  be  mainly  made 
up,  were  set  in  the  sand  on  the  lower  flat.  Even  at 
the  early  hour  at  which  the  brisk-stepping  stranger 
entered  the  short  street  of  Rocky-ford  these  cabin 
doors  were  filled  with  tow-headed  children.  And 
when  he  looked  up  from  them  it  seemed  that  not 
only  the  youngsters,  but  the  whole  town,  was  up  and 
out  doors.  That  was  natural,  of  course;  they  were 
really  country  people  and  accustomed  to  rising  early. 
But  that  knot  of  men  in  front  of  the  Post-Office,  and 
the  women  standing  in  the  yard  by  twos  and  threes, 
what  could  they  be  doing?  There  was  some  excite 
ment  in  the  air;  he  felt  it,  and  quickened  his  pace. 
There  were  his  companions,  all  talking  excitedly, 
and — could  it  be?  Yes,  there  was  the  old  teacher, 
looking  aged  many  years  in  that  brief  night,  and 
wild  and  haggard.  As  soon  as  his  friends  saw  him 
they  started  toward  him,  and  the  villagers  came  after 
them  with  more  or  less  alacrity,  to  witness  the  effect 
of  the  news. 

"Have  you  heard  it?"  asked  one  of  them. 

"Heard  it:  heard  what?  No,  I  have  heard  noth 
ing.  What  is  it  ?  " 

"A  party  of  Mormons  leave  here  to-day  for  Utah. 
It  seems  nobody  knew  there  were  any  about  until 
last  night,  when  an  old  man  who  lives  out  here  a  mile 
or  two  told  his  daughter  they  would  go  to-day  with 


24  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

the  Mormons,  and  she  took  on  so  they  had  to  call 
the  neighbors  in;  then  they  found  out  all  about  it. 
They  say  she  is  a  mighty  pretty  girl.  The  old  school 
master,  Ezekiel  Blounce,  is  desperately  worked  up 
about  it.  He  says  it's  as  bad  as  kidnaping  the  girl, 
but  there  does  not  seem  to  be  any  way  to  prevent  it. 
The  elders  have  been  working  around  on  the  sly 
lately,  and  have  a  party  of  six  or  eight  ready  to  start 
to-day.  There  was  a  great  excitement  here  about 
Mormonism  some  ten  years  ago,  they  say,  and  these 
people  who  are  going  now  were  about  half  converted 
then.  It  appears  that  this  girl's  father — Wainwright 
is  his  name — was  afraid  she  would  make  a  fuss  about 
it,  so  the  elders  persuaded  him  to  keep  quiet  until 
they  were  about  ready  to  start." 

"Why  don't  the  girl  let  her  father  go,  and  stay 
here?  has  she  no  friends?'"'  asked  the  stranger,  im 
pulsively. 

"  Oh,  it  is  of  no  use  to  speak  of  that,  the  old  teacher 
says,  and  he  seems  to  know  more  about  them  than 
anybody  else;  the  girl  has  gone  to  school  to  him  for 
a  long  time  and  she  would  not  part  from  her  father, 
he  is  sure.  The  father  is  a  little  queer,  they  say;  had 
a  severe  illness  when  he  was  a  youngster,  that  left 
him  weak-minded.  No,  I  guess  there  is  nothing  to 
do  but  to  let  them  go;  there  is  no  law  to  prevent 
people  from  going  to  Utah  if  they  want  to.  And, 
by  the  way,  we  have  no  time  to  look  after  them  any 
how;  I  had  a  letter  from  the  General  this  morning, 
and  he  wants  us  to  hurry  on  down  to  the  end  of  this 
line  and  get  in  again  as  soon  as  possible;  he  has  a 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  25 

bigger  job  waiting  for  us.  We  have  not  had  break 
fast  yet;  come  and  get  some  coffee  and  we  will  be 
right  off." 

There  was  no  school  at  the  little  district  school 
house  in  Pineborough  township  that  day.  The  chil 
dren  came  and  looked  at  the  fallen  chimney,  walked 
about  among  the  broken  trees,  and  went  away  again. 
But  Ezekicl  Blounce,  the  teacher  who  had  so  long 
and  regularly  met  his  little  flock  there,  had  a  meet 
ing  that  morning  with  but  one  pupil.  He  had 
guessed  that  Esther  would  make  a  farewell  visit  to 
her  old  haunts  in  the  pine  woods;  he  knew  that  she 
strolled  over  the  hills  alone  amid  the  ferns  and  trick 
ling  waters,  and  often  sat  for  hours  on  the  overhang 
ing  crags  and  gazed  into  the  peaceful  valleys,  at  she 
knew  not  what,  to  be  sure,  but  she  enjoyed  it,  her 
mates  did  not;  and  her  mother  had  always  tried  to 
indulge  her  quiet  moods,  realizing,  perhaps  uncon 
sciously,  that  she  had  to  deal  with  a  finer  nature  than 
her  own.  Esther's  complexion  was  not  lily  and  peach- 
bloom.  The  winds  and  suns  of  her  native  hills  had 
toned  it  to  a  golden  brown  and  carmine;  bat  neither 
time  nor  the  elements,  joy  nor  sorrow,  could  ever 
fade  or  intensify  the  blue  of  her  eyes;  it  was  the  blue 
of  deep  water  under  a  cloudless  sky.  All  her  life 
since  she  was  a  lisping,  white-haired,  dainty  child, 
clad  in  a  blue  cotton  frock  and  a  linsey  petticoat,  she 
had  gone  to  the  district  school,  down  the  hill  and 
across  the  brook,  by  way  of  the  fallen  tree,  and  then 
along  the  stage  road  to  the  old,  familiar  door,  where 
Mr.  Blounce  always  met  her  with  a  smile.  It  was 


26  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

natural  that  he  should  be  greatly  interested  in  her, 
motherless,  too,  as  she  now  was.  But  when  he  found 
her  among  the  swaying  pine  trees,  weeping  alone  in 
the  unanswering  solitude,  he  showed  something  more 
than  a  friendly  feeling — a  love  that  was  greater  than 
she  could  understand,  but  which  she  did  not  ques 
tion.  It  was  some  comfort  to  have  the  good  old  man 
by  her  side,  and  in  the  short  time  she  could  steal 
from  her  hurried  preparations  she  told  him  the  farm 
had  been  sold  to  Col.  Barbold;  that  the  Mormons 
had  shown  her  father  where  there  were  good  indica 
tions  of  coal  in  a  stony  patch  of  his  land  that  had 
never  been  cultivated,  and  had  insisted  that  he  ask  a 
much  larger  sum  for  it  than  any  value  he  had  ever 
before  put  upon  it.  The  Colonel  objected  strongly 
at  first  to  paying  such  a  price,  but  after  a  quarrelsome 
interview,  of  which  she  could  only  hear  the  tones 
and  an  occasional  word,  she  distinctly  heard  one  of 
the  elders  say  that  "  Brother  "Wainwright  would  not 
take  a  cent  less — that  he  was  one  with  them  now  in 
the  fold  of  the  Latter  Day  Saints,  and  they  would 
stand  by  him  and  see  his  rights  protected." 

Then  Col.  Barbold  said  he  would  take  the  place, 
and  the  other  elder  told'  him  sneeringly  that  he  de 
served  to  be  rewarded  for  waiting  so  long  to  get  hold 
of  it.  Everthing  was  to  go,  the  house  and  all  the 
dear  belongings  except  Esther's  and  her  mother's 
clothing,  this  she  was  generously  allowed  to  retain. 
She  grew  calmer  after  she  had  told  this  sad  story  to 
her  old  friend  and  turned  to  take  a  last  look  at  the 
picture  spread  out  beneath  them.  The  old  man's 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  £7 

eyes  followed  hers,  and  at  the  same  instant  they  dis 
covered  a  surveying  party  crossing  the  meadow  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill.  Quickly  and  involuntarily  they 
glanced  at  each  other,  and  the  teacher  remarked  that 
that  was  the  company  to  which  the  young  man  who 
had  called  at  the  school  house  belonged.  "Last 
night,  was  it?"  he  queried  piteously,  "it  seems  so 
long  ago." 

"Yes,  last  night,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  which  showed 
that  she,  as  well  as  her  aged  companion,  was  con 
scious  of  an  experience  in  that  brief  time  that  had 
changed  them  both.  Yesterday  she  was  a  thought 
less  girl,  climbing  the  hills  and  strolling  through  the 
meadows,  carelessing  seeing  as  she  passed,  the  burst 
ing  buds,  the  fringing  willows  near  the  streams,  and 
the  purpling  oaks  on  the  ridges,  with  no  care  beyond 
her  present  loitering.  To-day  her  heart  was  heavy 
with  grief,  but  in  the  flash  of  consciousness  that  went 
from  her  eyes  to  the  old  man's  he  saw  something 
more.  It  spoke  in  the  unmistakable  language  of  a 
woman's  heart  of  a  presence  without  which  her  life 
would  be  barren  indeed,  but  which  would  make  her 
dreaded  journey  to  Utah  yet  harder  to  bear. 

They  said  good  bye  to  each  other  there  under  the 
sighing  trees,  and  the  old  man's  last  words  were  like 
a  benediction  to  Esther. 

"God  protect  you,  my  child,"  he  said;  "I  cannot 
go  with  you,  but  while  I  live  I  am  your  friend  and 
will  come  if  you  call." 

A  mutual  but  unexpressed  understanding  that  it 
was  the  better  way,  caused  them  to  separate  there, 


28  ESTHER    THE   O  EN  TILE. 

and  when  he  was  gone  Esther  looked  up  at  the  scarred 
and  familiar  faces  of  the  rocks,  and  at  the  bare  old 
trees,  until  the  tears  flooded  her  eyes  again  and  she 
stretched  forth  her  arms  in  a  long  and  loving  farewell. 
It  was  as  if  an  untouched  fountain  had  broken  in 
her  heart  and  was  washing  from  her  eyes  the  aurora 
of  youth.  Once  more  she  went  back  to  bathe  her 
face  in  the  "witches'  bowl."  Many  times  she  had 
watched  for  an  hour  the  tiny  stream  as  it  fell  into  the 
rocky  basin  and  spread  in  graceful,  softening  waves 
over  its  smooth  surface;  many  times  she  had  gazed 
into  its  depths  to  watch  the  floating  clouds ;  many  a 
bright  bit  of  moss  and  water-cress  she  had  trans 
planted  in  the  crevices  of  its  moist  edge  and  then 
leaned  over  to  see  the  leaves  wave  their  answering 
shadows  in  the  limpid  water;  often  she  had  laved  her 
bonny  hands  in  its  coolness  for  pure  delight,  but 
never  before  this  farewell  visit  had  she  asked  the 
"witches'  bowl"  to  mirror  her  own  beauty.  Even 
under  the  shadow  of  her  great,  fresh  sorrow  she  had 
tasted  fruit  of  the  knowledge  which  alone  brings  the 
fullness  of  either  joy  or  woe  to  a  woman. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


44 /CERTAINLY  they  admit  the  divine  revelation 
\^  of  the  Bible,  they  have  never  denied  or  ques 
tioned  that;  in  fact  they  teach  it  in  common  with 
other  religious  sects.  Oh,  my  friend,  you  greatly 
underestimate  the  strength  of  the  Mormon  church 
and  the  hold  it  has  upon  the  minds  of  the  devotees, 
if  you  suppose  it  seeks  to  substitute  the  Book  of 
Mormon  for  the  Scriptures.  All  the  proselyting  that 
has  ever  been  done  by  the  Mormons  has  been  begun 
by  preaching  Christ  crucified  and  the  teachings  of 
the  Bible.  The  name  of  the  sect  as  known  among 
themselves  is  the  Church  of  Christ  of  the  Latter  Day 
Saints,  and  the  faithful  among  them  are  just  as  firm 
believers  in  the  Revealed  Scriptures  as  you  are.  The 
colonies  of  ignorant  foreigners  that  are  brought  over 
from  the  old  countries  by  the  Mormon  elders  were 
nearly  all  pious  people  before  they  became  Mormons, 
but,  being  ignorant,  after  they  were  worked  up  to  a 
high  pitch  of  religious  excitement  they  were  easily 
led  on  to  believe  in  the  finding  of  other  inspired 
writings  besides  the  Bible,  the  supplement  of  the 
New  Testament,  as  the  Mormons  call  it,  or  the  Bible 
of  the  Western  Continent.  There  is  nothing  in  that 
idea  radically  inconsistent  with  the  theory  of  the 
Christian  religion  that  I  can  see." 

"No,  perhaps  not,  from  your  point  of  view,  but 
3  (29) 


30  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

directly  opposed  to  the  spirit  of  the  Christian  relig 
ion,  as  I  understand  it.  You  seem  to  be  familiar 
with  this  strange  people;  may  I  ask  if  you  have  been 
among  them  much?  " 

"Yes,  I  have  spent  a  good  deal  of  time  in  Salt 
Lake  during  the  last  ten  years,  and  for  the  last  five 
years  I  have  resided  there  constantly.  I  am  engaged 
in  the  practice  of  law,  among  the  Gentiles  exclu 
sively,  however;  the  Saints  do  not  go  to  law;  the 
Church  settles  everything  for  them,  and  settles  it  not 
according  to  the  law  necessarily,  nor  the  law  and  the 
prophets,  but  according  to  the  Prophet,  strictly. 
The  President  of  the  Mormon  church  combines  the 
powers  of  both  church  and  state;  he  is  elected 
by  the  whole  people,  and  his  decree  is  absolute  in 
all  things.  Of  course  many  questions  of  both  a  tem 
poral  and  spiritual  nature  that  affect  the  welfare  of 
the  people  and  the  safety  of  the  Church  are  decided 
without  being  referred  to  him,  but  they  are  pretty 
sure  to  be  decided  as  he  would  have  decided  them, 
for  all  officers,  priests,  elders,  bishops,  and  even  the 
Patriarch,  the  highest  position  in  the  church  govern 
ment  after  President,  are  accountable  to  him.  Did 
it  ever  occur  to  you  that  it  was  a  politic  idea  in  pro 
mulgating  a  new  religious  sect  in  this  country  to 
call  its  ruling  power  a  presidency,  rather  than  give  it 
a  name  that  would  suggest  a  priesthood  or  a  mon 
archy?  Ah,  there  have  been  some  sharp  wits  at  the 
head  of  this  Mormon  business,  there  is  no  doubt  of 
that.  The  longer  you  stay  among  the  Mormons,  and 
the  more  you  see  of  them,  the  more  interesting  they 


ESTHER   THE   GENTILE.  31 

will  become  to  you.  You  stop  at  Salt  Lake,  I  sup 
pose?" 

"Yes,  I  shall  stop  there  for  a  short  time.  But 
do  you  not  see  some  of  the  Mormon  people  on  the 
train  sometimes?  I  supposed  we  should  pick  up 
some  at  these  small  stations  occasionally." 

"  O  yes,  so  we  do  sometimes,  but  seldom;  the  Mor 
mons  are  not  great  travelers,  they  do  not  mix  much 
with  the  outside  world  in  any  way,  and  then  their 
settlements  are  scattered  farther  north  and  south  and 
west,  but  especially  south,  from  Salt  Lake  City,  than 
east.  I  suppose  every  step  in  that  direction  seemed 
to  them  like  a  retrograde,  a  sort  of  compromise  with 
the  persecution  and  civilization  they  fled  from.  There 
is,  however,  a  small  party  of  Mormon  converts,  and 
a  couple  of  elders,  in  the  forward  car,  but  they  are 
through  passengers  from  some  place  in  the  East.  I 
did  not  pay  much  attention  to  them,  but  I  noticed 
that  they  are  Americans,  or  at  least  they  speak  Eng 
lish,  and  show  by  their  dress  that  they  do  not  belong 
to  any  of  the  classes  which  usually  compose  these 
parties.  We  do  not  often  see  any  but  old-country 
peasantry  now-a-days,  with  a  sprinkling  from  a  some 
what  higher  walk  as  leaders.  Perhaps  you  would 
like  to  go  in  and  take  a  look  at  them.  I  do  not 
happen  to  know  either  of  the  elders,  but  they  are 
generally  a  worldly  sort  of  fellows  who  enjoy  a  chat 
well  enough  if  you  can  get  them  away  from  their 
people." 

Esther  and  her  father  sat  on  the  back  seat  of  a 
car  that  was  bearing  them  rapidly  towards  the  beau- 


32  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

tiful  city  which  was  to  one  a  veritable  Mecca,  and  to 
the  other,  she  knew  not  what.  Mr.  Wainwright's 
face  beamed  with  the  light  of  the  simple  faith  that 
had  inspired  him  to  take  such  an  important  step  on 
his  own  responsibility,  and  he  turned  to  his  daughter 
with  the  assuring  words  that  all  would  be  well  when 
they  arrived  at  their  journey's  end.  He  did  not  al 
low  his  eyes  to  dwell  long  on  her  face,  however,  for  it 
told  a  sad  story,  and  Mr.  "Wainwright  was  evidently 
afraid  to  trust  himself  to  contemplate  it.  She  had 
endured  the  long  journey  silently  and  uncomplain 
ingly  for  the  most  part,  but  once  or  twice  she  had 
said  to  her  father  in  the  brief  moments  they  had 
been  permitted  to  speak  alone,  "It  is  not  too  late 
yet,  we  might  go  back.  Do  you  not  think  you 
would  be  happier  in  the  old  home?" 

But  he  had  shaken  his  head  and  told  her  it  would 
all  be  right  when  they  got  there.  Then,  if  one  of 
the  elders  did  not  come  to  speak  to  them,  he  would 
go  away  from  her,  and  for  the  last  day  he  had  wholly 
avoided  being -alone  with  his  daughter  and  had  con 
stantly  sought  the  refuge  of  the  more  incisive  minds 
of  the  elders.  Both  these  shepherds  had  looked 
well  after  their  little  flock  during  the  entire  journey, 
conversing  first  with  one  and  then  with  another, 
sometimes  on  the  preeminent  claims  of  their  pe 
culiar  religion,  and  sometimes  on  the  beauties  and 
natural  advantages  of  the  country  to  which  they 
were  going,  but  always  in  a  cheerful  and  encourag 
ing  spirit.  The  women  of  the  party  had  not  affili 
ated  much.  Esther's  undisguised  sadness,  and  her 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  33 

apparent  distrust  of  the  whole  movement,  affected 
them  all  more  or  less,  and  they  seemed  to  avoid  any 
necessity  of  explanations  or  exchange  of  opinions, 
though  some  of  them  were  the  most  determined  and 
faithful  of  the  band.  The  party  rode  in  the  dingiest 
and  shabbiest  car  in  the  train,  not  because  they  were 
traveling  as  second-class  passengers,  but  by  common 
consent,  to  more  surely  avoid  critical  observation. 
Esther  did  not  know  enough  of  herself  nor  of  other 
people  to  formulate  the  idea  that  she  was  with  a  class 
who  were  naturally  her  inferiors  in  sensitiveness  of 
mind,  though  the  child  had  an  instinctive  feeling  of 
shame,  and  a  vague  comprehension  that  her  father 
was  being  led  by  the  elders  and  was  really  not  ac 
countable  for  what  he  was  doing,  but  she  was  help 
less  and  powerless.  When  two  gentlemen  entered 
the  car  and  took  seats  near  them,  Esther  knew, 
though  she  cast  but  one  hurried  glance  towards 
them,  that  they  were  looking  at  her  and  her  father, 
regarding  them  curiously,  and  she  could  feel  her  face 
growing  red  and  her  eyes  blinding  with  tears.  She 
would  have  been  glad  to  shrink  out  of  sight,  but 
even  had  that  been  possible,  her  place  was  by  her 
father's  side;  that  was  the  one  thought  that  sustained 
her.  After  a  few  words  had  been  spoken  in  half 
audible  tones  between  the  two  strangers,  the  citizen 
of  Salt  Lake  City  crossed  the  aisle  and  took  a  seat 
directly  in  front  of  Mr.  Wainwright  and  Esther. 
Turning  to  them  he  addressed  them  pleasantly  and 
asked  if  they  were  going  far. 

"We   have   come   a  long  way,  but  we   stop   at 


34  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

Salt  Lake  City,"  answered  Mr.  Wainwright,  and  he 
brightened  visibly  at  the  sound  of  a  friendly  voice 
and  looked  at  Esther  as  if  he  would  encourage  her 
to  speak.  "It  has  been  a  tiresome  journey  for  my 
daughter  and  we  will  be  glad  when  we  reach  the  end 
of  it.  We  have  not  many  miles  to  go  now,  I  be 
lieve?" 

"!No,  it  is  but  a  short  distance  now.  How  does 
the  country  compare  with  the  locality  you  left?" 

"  0,  it  is  new,  very  new  and  strange,  but  it  will  all 
be  right.  I  tell  my  daughter  it  will  all  be  right 
when  we  get  there,  but,  you  see,  we  left  as  pretty  a 
place  as  there  is  any  where,  and  her  mother  died  a 
year  ago,  and  we  are,  we  may  say,  alone  in  the 
world." 

Then,  glancing  out  of  the  window  and  back  again 
at  Esther,  Mr.  Wainwright  seemed  to  understand 
that  his  answer  to  the  gentleman  had  been  some 
what  incoherent  and  he  repeated:  "The  country. is 
strange,  everything  is  strange,  that  is  all;  we  have 
never  been  much  away  from  home;  she  will  be  satis 
fied  I  am  sure  when  we  get  there." 

The  only  interest  Mr.  Wainwright  seemed  to  have 
in  the  country  was  that  it  should  please  and  satisfy 
his  daughter,  and  he  went  on  volubly  to  tell  of  her 
love  for  the  old  place  and  to  make  excuses  for  her 
sorrowful  face.  But  he  had  not  talked  long  before 
one  of  the  Mormon  elders  arose  and  came  down  the 
aisle  and  took  a  seat  by  the  stranger.  As  he  did  so 
that  gentleman  exchanged  a  significant  glance  with 
his  companion  across  the  way,  as  if  to  say,  "You 


ESTHER    THE   Q  EN  TILE.  35 

see,  the  elder  is  afraid  to  trust  me,"  but  he  continued 
to  talk  about  the  country  and  the  climate  and  the 
people,  until  he  had  quite  cheered  both  Esther  and 
her  father.  And  then  came  the  first  view  of  the  city 
of  the  valley  of  the  Great  Salt  Lake.  Spread  upon 
the  mountain  slope,  watered  by  the  mountain  streams, 
fanned  by  the  mountain  winds,  it  appears  a  haven  of 
rest  to  thousands  of  weary  pilgrims  who  journey 
over  land  and  sea  to  reach  it.  Its  founder  chose 
wisely  this  spot  from  whence  the  everlasting  hills  can 
be  seen  in  such  magnificance.  Children  that  are 
born  and  bred  in  sight  of  a  mountain  range  have 
more  veneration  in  their  souls  than  those  whose  lot 
falls  on  the  level  plain.  Enthusiasts  and  romancists 
are  fostered  by  mountain  air  and  nurtured  by  the 
sublime  spectacle  that  surrounds  them. 


CHAPTER  V. 


IN  THE  twilight  of  a  summer  evening  Mr.  Wain- 
wright  and  Esther  sat  on  the  doorstep  of  a  comfort 
able  little  house  on  an  unpretentious  street  in  Salt 
Lake  City.  They  had  heen  at  home  there  for  three 
months,  and  it  was  midsummer  now.  The  warm 
air  was  stirred  by  a  balmy  south  wind  that  came  la 
den  with  the  scent  of  the  hay  fields.  The  tree-lined 
street  was  perfectly  still  except  for  the  muffled  voice 
of  the  water  that  ran  in  the  ditches,  rubble,  rubble, 
rubble,  ever  the  same  monotonous  complaint  or  glad 
cadence,  according  to  the  temper  of  the  listener. 
Esther  had  heard  it  for  a  long  time,  and  to  her  it 
seemed  to  be  beating  against  its  narrow  walls,  impa 
tient  for  its  native  wilds.  They  were  sitting  hand  in 
hand,  the  loving  daughter  and  the  gentle  father. 
Their  life  in  this  new  world  had  been  quiet  and  not 
wholly  unhappy  up  to  this  time.  They  had  seen 
much  that  was  novel  and  interesting  to  both  of  them, 
and  they  had  made  some  friends,  but  they  had  been 
comparatively  undisturbed  in  their  own  home,  and 
Esther  had  allowed  her  thoughts  to  dwell  fondly  upon 
the  dear  old  hills.  She  pined  more  for  them  than 
for  her  old  friends,  though  sometimes  she  wished  for 
something  else,  she  scarcely  knew  what,  at  first,  but 
in  time  she  found  her  thoughts  taking  shape  in  a 
pair  of  dark  eyes  and  an  unfamiliar  name.  A  name 

(36) 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  37 

that  she  had  heard  but  twice,  and  eyes  that  she  had 
never  looked  into  as  eyes  that  know  each  other  look. 
But  on  the  whole  she  had  not  been  miserable,  and 
that  was  better  than  she  had  anticipated.  Her  father 
was  absorbed  in  his  new  religion.  He  had  given  the 
fifth  of  all  he  owned  to  the  Church  cheerfully  and 
gladly,  and  would  have  doubled  this  first  tax  that  is 
exacted  from  every  member,  if  Esther  had  not  de 
murred.  He  was  a  daily  worshiper  in  the  tabernacle, 
and  either  a  priest  or  an  elder  was  always  by  his  side 
when  he  went  on  the  street.  His  faith  had  com 
pletely  filled  him,  and  he  told  Esther  as  he  sat  there 
with  her  hand  in  his,  how  sure  he  was  that  they  had 
done  right  in  leaving  the  old  home  for  the  New  Jeru 
salem. 

"  I  am  glad  for  your  sake,  father,  that  it  is  so,"  she 
had  said,  and  then  they  both  sat  still  thinking,  until 
they  heard  the  well-known  foot-fall  of  Elder  Bean 
coming  down  the  street  towards  them.  Esther  made 
some  motion  as  if  to  go  in,  but  her  father  detained 
her,  and  when  the  elder  came  up  he  invited  him  to 
go  in  with  them.  He  declined  the  invitation  after  a 
look  at  Esther,  but  said  he  would  like  to  say  a  few 
words  to  Mr.  Wainwright  and  suggested  that  they 
walk  together,  since  the  evening  was  so  pleasant  it 
seemed  like  a  loss  to  spend  it  indoors.  Esther 
brought  her  father's  hat  and  gave  it  to  him  with  a  kiss 
and  looked  fondly  after  him  as  he  passed  down  the 
quiet  street,  but  her  heart  forewarned  her  as  he  and 
his  companion  walked  away  that  this  interview  meant 
something  serious.  Left  alone,  she  went  inside, 


38  ESTHER    THE  GENTILE. 

closed  the  door  and  threw  herself  on  the  floor  by  a 
south  window  where  she  laid  her  head  on  her  arm  so 
that  she  could  look  at  the  sky.  The  exile  always 
finds  some  comfort  in  this.  To  look  at  a  star  and 
know  that  it  can  be  seen  from  the  spot  where  we 
most  long  to  be,  and  by  the  eyes  we  most  wish  to 
meet,  brings  a  vague  solace  to  us  all,  but  it  did  not 
prevent  the  hot  tears  from  falling  from  Esther's  eyes 
nor  quiet  the  fears  which  possessed  her.  She  could 
not  be  still,  the  air  of  the  house  seemed  to  stifle  her; 
she  threw  open  the  door  again  and  went  out  to  listen 
for  her  father's  return,  though  she  knew  he  would 
not  come  so  soon.  No  sound  came  from  the  direc 
tion  in  which  he  had  gone,  but  she  heard  hurrying 
steps  coming  the  other  way.  She  had  no  well-defined 
reason  for  thinking  they  were  coming  to  her,  but  her 
father's  absence  and  the  fear  she  felt,  together  with 
the  uncertain  light,  made  her  tremble,  and  she  stood 
irresolute  whether  to  go  in  or  to  run  away.  The 
steps  quickened  and  she  strained  her  eyes  to  see,  if 
she  could,  who  came.  But  before  she  could  distin 
guish  anything  a  hand  had  grasped  hers  and  a  voice 
said  excitedly,  "I  knew  you  almost  in  the  dark,  Miss 
Wainwright;  do  not  be  alarmed  and  do  not  go  away; 
I  come  as  a  friend  and  in  great  haste.  Do  you  re 
member  me,  I  saw  you  but  once,  at  the  little  school 
house,  and  I  have  a  message  from  your  old  teacher, 
Mr.  Blounce." 

For  answer  to  this  hurried  speech  Esther  burst  into 
tears,  but  in  a  moment  more  she  choked  down  her 
sobs  and  invited  her  visitor  into  the  little  parlor. 


ESTHER   THE   O  EN  TILE.  39 

With  shaking  hands  she  lighted  a  lamp  that  stood  on 
a  diminutive  center  table,  and  the  stranger  watched 
eagerly  to  see  if  the  face  it  would  illumine  could  be 
as  beautiful  and  as  innocent  as  when  he  first  beheld 
it.  He  almost  held  his  breath  while  the  uncertain 
flame  flickered  and  blinded  him,  but  as  soon  as  the 
steady  glow  came  he  went  to  her  and  took  her  hand 
again.  It  lasted  but  an  instant,  that  brief  time  when 
he  could  touch  her  hand  and  look  deep  into  her  eyes, 
but  he  was  not  disappointed ;  he  saw  there  all  he  had 
dreamed  of  in  the  months  since  he  had  first  discov 
ered  her  one  idle  summer  day. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  knew  you  at  first,"  she  said,  "you  came 
to  the  school  house  the  night  before  the  storm.  Any 
one  I  ever  saw  there  would  seem  like  an  old  friend 
now;  but  are  you  living  here?"  she  added  hesitat 
ingly. 

"No,  indeed,  I  am  merely  passing  through;  we  are 
going  to  do  some  Government  work  two  or  three 
hundred  miles  beyond  here  and  stopped  off  only 
from  one  train  to  another.  Our  captain  had  business, 
and  I  came  to  find  you.  You  are  contented  here? 
and  your  father,  how  is  he  ?  Mr.  Blounce  has  told 
me  about  you,  and  whether  you  need  it  or  not,  I  came 
to  offer  you  my  friendship;  persons  sometimes  do 
need  friends  in  a  strange  land.  You  have  both  been 
well?  Mr.  Blounce  will  want  to  know." 

"  Will  you  see  him  ?  "  asked  Esther  eagerly. 

"No,  not  soon,  but  I  promised  to  write  him  of  you 
and  your  father  if  I  found  you,  and  to  give  you  hi* 
love." 


40  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

"  He  is  very  kind ;  I  wish  I  could  see  him.  Tell 
him  we  are  both  well;  father  is  very  happy  too;  he 
will  be  in  soon,  he  has  only  gone  out  for  a  little 
walk." 

Esther  did  not  explain  that  he  had  gone  with  one 
of  the  elders,  but  she  betrayed  her  apprehension 
concerning  him  by  nervous  glances  towards  the  door, 
even  in  the  midst  of  questions  about  her  old  home. 
It  was  little  her  guest  could  tell  her;  he  had  not  been 
near  the  old  school  house  since  the  day  he  saw  her 
there.  He  could,  however,  talk  to  her  of  that  day 
and  the  familiar  places;  but  not  even  the  sense  of 
acquaintanceship,  that  is  always  the  result  of  such 
meetings  in  a  foreign  land,  made  it  seem  possible  for 
him  to  lead  her  from  the  old  scenes  to  her  present 
life.  He  could  only  fear  that  she  purposely  avoided 
talking  of  it,  while  she  seemed  wholly  oblivious  to 
it.  Their  meeting  was  more  natural  and  uncon 
strained  than  it  could  possibly  have  been  under  any 
other  circumstances,  and  after  two  or  three  attempts 
to  go  the  visitor  still  lingered  at  the  door,  and  finally 
parted  from  Esther  almost  as  an  old  friend.  He  had 
told  Esther  that  he  should  return  to  Salt  Lake  City 
in  six  or  eight  weeks,  he  could  not  tell  just  when, 
but  whenever  he  did  come  it  would  be  to  stay  some 
time,  and  he  would  see  her  often  then,  he  hoped. 
Then  he  was  gone. 

Still  her  father  had  not  come,  and  again  she  stood 
alone  under  the  trees  listening  for  his  footsteps.  The 
quiet  streets  grew  quieter,  the  few  scattering  lights 
that  had  been  company  for  the  lonely  girl  went  out. 


ESTHER    THE  GENTILE.  41 

and  yet  she  waited.  The  visit  she  had  had  seemed 
like  a  dream  as  she  sat  and  thought  it  over  word  for 
word.  A  sweet  dream  indeed,  which  tempered  the 
bitterness  of  her  vigil  so  that  when  at  last  she  heard 
her  father  coming,  slowly  and  alone,  she  was  able  to 
meet  him  calmly  and  to  ask  where  he  had  been,  as 
though  she  did  not  suspect  anything  unusual.  But 
the  first  sound  of  his  voice  froze  her,  and  she  knew 
it  must  be  something  even  more  serious  than  she  had 
feared  that>he  had  to  say  to  her. 

"My  daughter,"  he  began,  as  soon  as  they  were 
inside  the  door,  as  if  afraid  to  trust  himself  to  put 
off  the  fatal  moment,  "  My  daughter,  I  came  here  to 
do  my  whole  duty  to  the  Church,  God  helping  me, 
and  Elder  Bean  has  made  it  plain  to  me  that  I  must 
change  my  manner  of  life.  It  is  selfish  in  us  to  live 
here  alone  in  this  quiet  way.  We  have  been  very 
happy,  and  I  would  be  glad  if  it  was  right  for  us  to 
go  on  in  the  same  way,  but  I  must  do  my  whole  duty 
as  it  is  shown  to  me.  Come  here,  njy  girl,  and  sit 
on  my  knee;  you  know  I  wish  for  nothing  in  the 
world  so  much  as  your  happiness,  Esther?  You  do 
know  this,  my  daughter?"  repeated  the  trembling 
man  as  he  put  his  arms  about  her  and  looked  appeal- 
ingly  into  her  dazed  face.  He  would  have  drawn 
her  head  down  upon  his  shoulder  and  soothed  her 
into  at  least  apparent  submission  while  he  talked  to 
her,  but  Esther  would  not  permit  it;  she  sat  upright, 
and  demanded  to  know  what  he  meant  and  what 
Elder  Bean  had  said  to  him. 

"  Perhaps  we  had  better  talk  of  this  in  the  morn- 


42  ESTHER   THE  GENTILE. 

ing,  Esther,  it  is  late  now,  I  will  not  trouble  you  to 
night,  my  girl,"  said  Mr.  Wainwright,  baffled  in  his 
effort  to  be  strong  and  brave.  Then  his  head  fell  on 
her  shoulder,  and  though  he  did  not  sob  nor  cry  out, 
she  could  feel  the  hot  tears  falling  on  her  hands. 
Her  hardness  of  heart  lasted  but  a  moment,  then  she 
strained  him  to  her  breast,  as  a  mother  would  have 
taken  a  forgiven  child,  and  said  gently: 

"No,  no,  father;  do  not  send  me  away,  let  me 
know  what  is  in  your  thoughts,  tell  me  Everything; 
I  have  grown  older  in  many  ways  since  we  came 
here,  and  I  can  be  wise.  But  this  is  nothing  that 
will  part  us,  father?"  almost  fiercely  again. 

"No,"  he  hastened  to  reply,  "not  necessarily,  not 
unless  you  think  it  best  for  a  time."  But  he  did  not 
look  up  and  Esther  could  feel  his  arms  tremble. 

"What  can  you  mean,  father?  You  would  not 
consent  to  that?  Why  should  we  be  separated? 
What  reason  can  there  be  for  it?  No,  I  will  never 
leave  you,  not  for  a  single  day;  they  shall  never  take 
you  from  me." 

"There,  there,  my  child,  do  not  be  alarmed,  it 
shall  be  as  you  say,  but  Elder  Bean  says  it  is  not 
right  for  me  to  be  living  alone,"  he  continued,  tak 
ing  courage  again. 

"  Living  alone,  father,  are  you  alone  while  I  am 
with  you,  are.  we  not  happiest  as  we  are,  and  who 
could  we  have  with  us?" 

"You  do  not  understand,  Esther,  I  must  take  a 
wife." 

It  was  Esther's  turn  to  quail  now.     A  spasm  of  as- 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  43 

tonishment  swept  over  her  face,  and  then  she  broke 
down  utterly,  and  was  folded  sobbing  in  her  father's 
arms.  Her  fears  had  caused  her  much  suffering,  but 
they  had  all  been  vague,  her  apprehensions  had  never 
once  materialized  into  the  personality  of  a  wife  for 
her  father,  a  woman  in  her  mother's  place,  and  in  her 
own  place,  too.  That,  she  would  have  felt,  if  she 
had  thought  of  it  at  all,  was  sacred  and  safe.  Six 
months  ago  this  frail  man  would  have  hesitated  a 
much  longer  time  before  making  such  an  announce 
ment  to  his  daughter,  but  his  newly-found  faith  lent 
him  a  strength  not  his  by  nature,  and  the  elders  had 
so  wrought  upon  his  confiding  mind  that  he  was  in 
actual  terror  of  ending  his  existence  upon  earth  be 
fore  he  had  fulfilled  every  commandment  of  the  Mor 
mon  church.  He  had  also  listened  that  very  day  to 
a  powerful  sermon  on  the  duties  of  the  elder  leaders 
and  supporters  of  the  revealed  religion,  and  foremost 
among  these  duties  was  the  obligation  of  taking  more 
than  one  wife,  and  as  Mr.  Wainwright  was  guilty 
of  the  great  sin  of  being  wifeless,  he  was  a  most  fit 
subject  for  Elder  Bean's  exhortations,  and  came 
home  overwhelmed  with  a  sense  of  his  own  short 
comings.  It  was  not  his  fear  of  her  reproaches  that 
made  him  bow  his  head  and  weep  rather  than  utter 
the  words  that  had  hurt  Esther  like  a  stab,  he  was 
strong  in  his  faith  that  he  was  doing  right,  it  was  his 
great  love  for  her  that  made  the  task  so  hard.  And 
when  she  clung  to  him,  sobbing  as  if  her  heart  would 
break,  nothing  but  his  zeal  for  what  he  believed  to 
be  exalted  righteousness  could  have  supported  him. 


44  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

Even  then,  he  pressed  her  convulsively  to  him,  and 
mingled  his  tears  with  hers. 

"Father,  father,  you  do  not  know  what  you  are 
saying.  A  Mormon  wife,  a  Mormon  woman  in  our 
home,  think  of  it!  Do  not  let  them  force  you  to 
this ! "  she  exclaimed  after  a  little  time. 

But  Mr.  Wainwright  remembered  the  command, 
"Let  no  man  be  ashamed  of  his  faith,"  and  he  said, 
with  an  attempt  at  cheerfulness,  "  Why,  my  child,  I 
am  a  member  of  the  Church  myself;  why  should  I 
not  have  a  wife  of  my  faith?  I  could  take  no  other. 
You  need  a  m " 

But  a  shudder  from  the  girl  as  she  rested  against 
him  checked  this  argument  half  uttered,  and  she 
raised  herself  up,  defiant  again.  Esther  knew  it  was 
but  the  echo  of  the  advice  he  had  received  during 
the  evening,  but  she  could  not  bear  it.  The  sacred 
name  of  "mother"  had  not  been  spoken  by  either  of 
them,  and  she  could  not  endure  that  it  be  mentioned 
in  this  odious  connection.  So  the  words  died  on  Mr. 
Wainwright's  lips,  and  thereafter  it  was  as  though  it 
had  never  been  known  to  either  father  or  daughter. 
They  had  been  accustomed  to  talk  often  of  the  dear 
heart  they  had  left  resting  amid  the  hills,  but  from 
that  fateful  night  her  name  was  not  spoken  again  for 
many  a  long  day. 

"  She  is  a  good  woman,  the  one  Elder  Bean  has  se 
lected  for  me,  a  woman  who  has  been  married,  like 
myself,  and  who  has  years  and  judgment  sufficient 
to  make  a  suitable  companion  for  a  man  of  my  age. 
She  has  a  daughter,  too,  Esther,  a  young  woman 


ESTHER    THE  GENTILE.  45 

near  your  own  age  who  will  be  company  for  you,  if 
you  do  not  choose  to  accept  Elder  Bean's  offer." 

"  Offer !     What  offer,  father  ?  " 

"  This  woman,  Elizabeth  Comfrey,  will  be  sealed 
to  me  next  Wednesday,  and  Elder  Bean  has  proposed 
to  me  that  you  become  his  wife  at  the  same  time.  It 
would  be " 

What  it  would  be,  in  his  opinion,  Mr.  Wainwright 
never  expressed,  for  Esther  sprang  to  her  feet  and 
stood  erect  with  flashing  eyes,  while  she  cried  in  a 
hard,  unnatural  voice,  "His  wife!  father,  are  you 
mad?  His  wife!  has  he  not  a  wife  already ?" 

"I — I — do  not  know.  I  suppose  not;  why — why 
— he  would  not — " 

"  He  would  do  anything !  Tell  him  no,  a  thousand 
times  no;  I  will  stay  with  you.  •  Oh,  father,  can  you 
not  see  what  we  are  coining  to?  Let  us  go  home  to 
morrow — now — we  cannot  stay  here.  Oh!  why  did 
we  ever  come?" 

"Quiet  yourself,  Esther,  you  frighten  me;  go  to 
bed  now,  you  are  excited,  and  I  am  tired,  very  tired. 
It  hurts  me  to  see  you  so.  Say  good  night  to  me; 
Esther,  Esther,  do  not  look  at  me  in  that  wild  way; 
I  must  do  my  whole  duty,  and  I  believe  you  will  yet 
be  led  in  the  right  way." 

Esther  could  say  no  more;  she  saw  that  she  talked 
to  one  in  a  dream,  and  realized  as  she  looked  at  her 
father  that  she  must  fight  her  battle  alone.  She  went 
to  him  and  kissed  him  forgivingly,  but  he  did  not 
take  her  in  his  arms  again  or  notice  her.  She  waited 
a  minute  by  his  side,  and  then,  with  a  look  of  unut- 

4 


46  ESTHER   THE   GENTILE. 

terable  helplessness  in  her  face,  went  out  and  left  him 
alone. 

Esther  had  not  for  an  instant  premeditated  the 
concealment  of  the  visit  she  had  received  during  her 
father's  absence,  but  the  terrible  message  he  brought 
had  so  overwhelmed  her  with  grief  and  shame  that 
everything  else  seemed  unimportant.  There  had 
been  no  time  to  speak  of  anything  else,  and  she  felt 
that  her  father  could  not  understand,  while  in  his 
present  state  of  mind,  that  she  could  have  a  visitor 
whom  he  did  not  know,  even  if  he  was  interested  in 
the  fact.  So  she  went  sorrowfully  to  her  room  with 
that  secret  in  her  heart,  and  her  dreams  that  night, 
when  at  last  they  came  to  her  tired  senses,  were  of 
mingled  fear,  despair,  and  hope.  Young  as  Esther 
was,  she  appreciated  that  her  father  was  being  slowly 
drawn  into  a  net  that  sooner  or  later  would  make  him 
wretched,  and  she  wept  for  him  in  her  sleep.  But  in 
bright  relief  against  this  dark  sorrow  stood  the  form 
of  her  new  friend,  and  the  light  that  bade  her  hope 
was  the  light  of  love. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


IT  seemed  a  hard  fate  that  sent  a  timid  man  like 
Mr.  Wainwright  forth  alone  to  meet  his  bride, 
but  probably  no  amount  of  persuasion  could  have 
induced  his  daughter  to  accompany  him,  when  the 
day  came,  to  the  Endowment  House.  There  was  not 
much  in  the  way  of  argument  ever  available  to  him; 
he  was  a  man  of  few  resources,  and  when  Esther  told 
him  she  could  not  go,  and  begged  him  not  to  ask  her, 
it  saved  him  the  effort  of  saying  a  great  many  things 
he  had  thought  he  might  say,  if  he  discovered  in  her 
a  possibility  of  yielding  to  his  wishes  in  this  respect. 
He  would  have  been  glad  to  have  his  daughter  stand 
by  him  while  he  assumed  this  new  duty,  but  he  did 
not  hesitate  because  she  refused.  At  the  appointed 
hour  he  went  prayerfully,  with  bowed  head,  along  the 
street  as  was  his  custom,  and  Esther  watched  him  as 
if  he  were  going  to  the  stake. 

When  he  returned  he  led  by  the  hand  a  tall  gray- 
looking  woman,  not  quite  his  equal  in  years,  but  evi 
dently  much  riper  in  experience  and  knowledge  of 
people,  and  some  four  inches  taller  than  he.  Her 
daughter  walked  behind.  One  may  see  such  a  per 
son  as  Elizabeth  many  times  in  a  crowd  and  make  no 
note  of  her.  She  was  thin,  square  shouldered,  solemn 
visaged,  middle  aged,  and  all  of  a  grayness,  a  kind  of 
iron  gray,  that  looked  as  if  it  would  neither  bend  nor 

(47) 


48  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

break.  Her  eyes  one  could  seldom  see,  they  were  so 
overshadowed  with  heavy  brows,  which,  like  the  hairs 
of  her  head,  were  half  black  and  half  white.  Her 
complexion  partook  of  the  same  general  color,  like  a 
well-toned  wintry  landscape,  and  even  her  expression 
was  gray,  perpetually  gray.  .  It  is  a  small  task  to  put 
a  gray  gown  on  such  a  woman,  though  she  wore  it 
because  it  was  serviceable,  not  because  it  was  harmo 
nious.  Perhaps  the  theory  of  harmony  had  been  re 
served  as  a  grace  for  Elizabeth  in  some  future  state 
of  existence;  it  certainly  had  no  place  in  her  soul  in 
this  life.  She  had  been  widowed  a  long  time,  but 
she  belonged  to  a  rare  philosophical  genus  of  woman 
kind.  She  was  a  person  who  could  wait,  secure  in 
the  belief  that  her  mission  would  be  made  clear  to 
her  some  day.  She  possessed  another  attribute  as 
rare  among  women  as  it  is  among  men,  almost.  She 
could  not  only  keep  her  own  counsel,  but  she  could 
keep  secrets  for  others,  and  she  never  gossiped;  con 
sequently  she  had  been  made  a  confidante  by  many 
of  the  high  dignitaries  of  the  church  and  had  proven 
herself  a  valuable  ally  in  many  important  church 
works.  It  is,  indeed,  wonderful  how  much  any  man 
or  woman  is  permitted,  or,  rather,  obliged  to  know, 
when  once  it  is  learned  that  he  or  she  can  keep  a  se 
cret.  But  few  mortals  carry  their  treasures  with 
greater  safety  and  less  ostentation  than  did  Elizabeth. 
Esther  had  nerved  herself  to  meet  the  bridal  party 
at  the  door  and  extend  to  them  some  show  of  wel 
come,  but  the  moment  Elizabeth's  foot  crossed  the 
threshold  Elias  Wainwright's  daughter  was  relieved 


ESTHER    THE   Q  EN  TILE.  49 

of  all  effort  in  that  direction.  The  new  wife  assumed 
her  position  as  mistress  of  the  household  instantly; 
not  rudely,  nor  by  any  worded  assertion.  A  deliber 
ate  but  momentary  survey  of  the  little  room  was  all 
that  was  visible,  then  she  untied  her  gray  silk  bonnet 
and  removing  it  from  her  head,  walked  straight  to  an 
unoccupied  nail  in  the  wall  on  the  other  side  of  the 
room  and  hung  it  thereon  as  if  she  had  done  the  same 
thing  a  hundred  times  before.  Esther  stood  waiting 
with  empty  hands,  and  that  little  but  unhesitating 
action  showed  her  the  keen  perception  and  the  self- 
reliance  of  the  woman  who  had  come  into  her  life. 
Elizabeth  did  not  choose  to  be  waited  upon;  she 
placed  nothing  from  whence  it  must  be  directly  re 
moved,  not  even  a  word.  She  both  moved  and  spoke 
without  studied  effort  or  unseemly  haste,  and  in  half 
an  hour  she  had  impressed  so  inexperienced  an  ob 
server  as  Esther  with  the  feeling  that  she  was  as  au 
tomatic,  as  alert,  and  as  soulless,  as  a  fine  piece  of 
mechanism. 

If  there  is  anything  in  this  world  that  can  un 
steady  one's  faith  in  the  good  old  Quaker  doctrine 
that  the  "still,  small  voice,"  well  heeded,  will  guide 
a  mortal  life  through  channels  of  usefulness,  and 
make  it  at  the  same  time  joyful  and  joy-giving,  it  is 
such  a  life  as  Elizabeth  Wainwright's.  She  never 
committed  an  act  of  which  any  man  could  say,  "  She 
knows  that  to  be  evil."  She  never  shirked  a  duty, 
and  yet  she  stood  like  a  hard,  unyielding,  silent  rock, 
in  the  midst  of  lives  that  without  her  would  have 
been  smooth  and  pleasant.  Around  her  individual- 


50  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

ism  the  lives  of  three  others  by  turns  eddied,  and 
surged,  and  fell  back  calm  and  hopeless.  Into  her 
unanswering  eyes  three  pleading  faces  looked  day 
after  day  for  something  they  never  found.  She  went 
with  her  husband  faithfully  to  church,  and  usually 
took  her  daughter  along.  When  she  was  left  behind 
it  was  because  there  was  work  to  do.  The  house 
hold  duties  were  shared  equally  by  the  three 
women  and  no  unfair  burden  was  laid  upon  Esther, 
indeed  most  of  the  time  she  felt  that  everything 
would  go  on  quite  as  well  without  her,  for  both  Eliz 
abeth  and  her  daughter  were  expert  housekeepers, 
and  the  habits  of  all  were  so  frugal  and  regular 
there  was  not  much  to  do.  Elizabeth  had  several 
times  invited  Esther  to  accompany  them  to  church, 
but  when  she  declined,  as  she  always  did,  she  was  not 
urged.  Her  father  said  nothing,  but  she  noticed 
that  when  she  was  left  alone  he  always  looked  wist 
fully  back  at  her,  and  when  Elizabeth's  daughter  re 
mained  at  home  he  looked  pleased  because  she  had 
a  companion.  The  daughters  did  not  become  ac 
quainted  rapidly,  though  there  seemed  no  special 
antagonism  between  them.  Elizabeth's  daughter  had 
been  accustomed  from  her  babyhood  to  submit  totally 
to  her  mother's  direction  without  a  thought  beyond 
it.  Esther  had  no  treasonable  designs,  nor  hopes 
even,  for  any  one  save  her  father,  but  one  day  when 
the  girls  had  been  left  to  a  task  that  kept  them  to 
gether  longer  than  usual,  Esther  sighed  deeply  and 
looked  wearily  out  of  the  window.  Drusilla  looked 
up  at  her  in  mild  astonishment  and  asked  if  she  was 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  51 

troubled.  Esther,  stammering  and  hesitr.ting,  at 
first  denied  it,  because  she  was  frightened  at  having 
her  real  feelings  discovered,  and  because  she  was 
just  enough  to  remember  that  this  girl  was  in  no 
way  accountable  for  her  suffering  But  when  she 
saw  the  look  of  incredulity  on  Drusilla's  face  she 
cried  out  in  desperation,  "Yes,  I  am  in  trouble,  and 
you  may  as  well  know  it.  Do  you  think  it  is  noth 
ing  to  me  that  my  father  has  left  his  home  and  his 
people  to  come  away  here  to  live  with  the  Mormons? 
You  are  one  of  them  yourself,  I  suppose,  but  you 
are  not  accountable  for  it;  you  were  born  here  your 
mother  said,  and  you  do  not  know  that  it  is  consid- 
dered  a  disgrace  all  over  this  country,  outside  of 
Utah,  to  be  a  Mormon.  Poor  girl,  I  ought  to  pity 
you,  but  I  don't,  I  have  grown  so  hard  hearted,  i 
hate  your  mother,  I  hate  the  whole  race  of  Mor 
mons,  they  have  taken  my  father  from  me  and  they 
are  taking  his  money  and  soon  he  will  be  a  poor, 
helpless  old  man.  I  don't  care  for  that,  they  can 
have  all  if  they  will  let  me  have  him  and  let  us  go. 
Oh  mother,  mother,  what  shall  we  do  ?" 

The  cry  seemed  to  come  spontaneously  to  Esther's  . 
lips,  and  she  had  but  just  uttered  it  and  thrown  her 
self  into  a  chair  sobbing  out  her  long  pent-up  grief 
when  the  door  opened  and  Elizabeth  and  her  father 
walked  in.  No  questions  were  asked,  but  Elizabeth 
dismissed  the  girls  with  the  remark  that  she  would 
prepare  the  supper  and  they  might  go  to  their  own 
rooms  and  refresh  themselves  after  their  work.  Dru- 


52  ESTHER    THE  GENTILE. 

silla's  astonishment  faded  from  her  face  and  she 
acted  immediately  on  her  mother's  suggestion. 

Esther  slowly  lifted  her  tear-wet  face  and  saw  her 
father  gazing  at  her  with  the  old  fond  look  in  his 
eyes ;  she  stretched  out  her  hands  to  him,  and  before 
Elizabeth  could  turn  around  they  were  clasped  in 
each  other's  arms  and  Esther  was  weeping  on  her 
father's  breast.  It  did  not  last  long,  no  tender  feel 
ing  could  find  expression  under  the  stony  and  un 
flinching  gaze  of  Elizabeth,  and  Mr.  Wamwright 
put  his  daughter  gently  from  him  and  tried  to 
speak,  but  his  lips  only  quivered  and  no  sound  came 
from  them.  Then  Elizabeth  stepped  forward  and 
taking  Esther  by  the  arm  said,  "  Come,  my  daughter, 
calm  yourself." 

The  words  were  hardly  spoken  when  Esther  broke 
from  her  hold  and  turned  upon  her  like  something 
wild. 

"I  am  not  your  daughter,  woman !  Do  not  speak 
to  me  in  that  way  again.  I  cannot  choose  my  home 
or  it  would  not  be  with  your  people,  but  I  can  be 
true  to  my  mother,  and  I  can  keep  my  place  at  my 
father's  side,"  she  said,  as  she  put  her  hand  on  his 
arm  and  looked  at  him.  Elizabeth  turned  away  at 
this  and  left  them  alone.  But  the  old  look  had  gone 
out  of  Mr.  Wainwright's  face,  he  was  pale  and 
greatly  agitated.  Esther  herself  felt  no  sense  of  vic 
tory,  she  even  trembled  as  the  fear  came  into  her 
mind  that  she  had  said  too  much. 

Several  days  passed  by  and  no  reference  was  made 
to  this  little  scene,  and  Esther  began  to  be  less  ap- 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  53 

prehensive  that  she  had  made  a  fatal  mistake,  when 
her  father  came  to  breakfast  one  morning  looking  as 
if  he  had  had  a  fit  of  sickness,  he  was  so  haggard 
and  white.  He  avoided  Esther's  eyes  continually, 
and  ate  nothing  at  all.  The  preparations  for  church 
began  early,  and  some  desperate  fear,  inspired  by 
her  father's  actions  and  his  suffering  face,  caused 
Esther  to  resolve  to  accompany  them.  She  came 
into  the  room,  as  they  were  about  to  start,  all  in 
readiness,  and  announced  her  intention  to  her  father, 
but  what  was  her  surprise  to  see  the  agony  of  his  ex 
pression  increase  tenfold,  and  a  look  of  supreme  fear 
start  into  his  face.  He  begged  her  for  his  sake  not 
to  go,  and  Elizabeth  said,  "It  will  be  better  so." 

She  took  off  her  hat,  put  aside  her  wraps,  and  saw 
them  depart  alone,  not  because  she  was  not  brave 
enough  to  go  and  make  the  effort  to  save  her  father 
from  further  suffering  if  that  was  impending,  but 
because  she  knew  she  was  powerless,  and  she  had 
seen  plainly  that  her  presence  would  really  pain  him 
more.  That  he  had  gone  to  meet  some  great  trial 
she  had  no  doubt,  but  of  its  nature  she  had  no  idea, 
and  after  events  only  made  it  possible  for  her  to 
guess  at  it.  The  next  time  she  and  Drusilla  were 
alone  the  girl  said  to  her:  "I  know  you  are  one  of 
those  terrible  people  who  think  the  Saints  are  not 
God's  people,  but  I  want  to  ask  you  something  that 
I  can  ask  of  no  one  else:  Are  there  many  such  as 
you  ?  Many  people  in  the  world,  I  mean,  who  think 
it  is  a  disgrace  to  believe  in  the  revealed  religion  ? 
And  why  do  they  think  us  so  wicked?  I  know  it  is 


54  ESTHER   THE   GENTILE. 

very  wrong  for  me  to  ask  these  things  but  I  can't 
help  it,  I  want  to  know." 

"  Can  it  be  possible,  child,  that  you  do  not  know 
that  the  Mormons  are  but  a  handful  of  the  popula 
tion  of  the  United  States,  and  that  in  the  history  of 
the  world  they  really  have  no  place  at  all?  No  won 
der  polygamy  thrives.  That  is  the  shameful  part  of 
the  Mormon  doctrine,  that  is  why  everybody  despises 
them;  you  know  what  that  means,  I  suppose,  do  you 
not?"  Esther  asked.  "Yes,  I  thought  you  would; 
every  man  in  the  church,  who  has  any  position,  has 
more  than  one  wife.  Does  it  not  seem  terrible  to 
you?  Think  of  it!  how  would  you  feel  yourself  if 
you  were  married  to  a  man  who  had  another  wife, 
or  two  or  three  others ! " 

"But  the  law  of  God  commands  it,  and  nature 
has  so  ordered  it;  there  are  more  women  than  men 
in  the  world,  and  no  woman  can  be  acceptable  in  the 
sight  of  God  who  has  not  borne  children  in  the 
Church."  Esther  looked  at  the  girl  beside  her  in 
amazement.  The  hideous,  practical  details  of  the 
Mormon  government,  the  Mormon  religion  they  call 
it,  had  been  stamped  on  this  child's  mind  in  all  their 
nakedness,  and  she  knew  nothing  else. 

"What  would  you  think  if  your  father  were  to 
marry  another  woman?"  proceeded  Drusilla. 

"  Marry  another  woman ! "  If  a  knife  had  pierced 
Esther's  flesh  it  could  not  have  stung  her  more 
sharply,  but  she  rallied  in  an  instant,  and  said  that 
her  father  had  been  converted  to  the  Mormon  religion 
by  designing  men,  but  that  he  was  a  man  of  honor; 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  55 

he  did  not  come  there  to  practice  polygamy,  but  to 
serve  God  as  he  believed,  and  she  would  not  hear  him 
talked  of  in  that  way.  She  thought  for  an  instant 
that  she  saw  a  glitter  and  a  sneer  that  were  new  to 
her  in  Drusiila's  eyes,  but  Esther  was  unsuspicious, 
and  the  girl  was  young,  even  younger  than  herself, 
she  reflected,  and  so  ignorant. 

In  the  afternoon  Elizabeth  and  her  daughter  went 
out  together,  and  Mr.  Wainwright  shut  himself  up 
in  his  own  room,  he  was  not  well,  he  said,  but  only 
wished  for  quiet  and  to  be  undisturbed.  Esther 
spent  the  time  as  she  had  spent  many  long  days,  cry 
ing  in  her  heart,  "How  long,  Oh  Lord,  how  long?" 
and  seeking  for  some  way  of  deliverance.  She  was 
completely  shut  out  from  her  father's  confidence,  but 
she  knew  he  was  breaking  down  under  some  new 
torture  of  mind,  and  her  own  suffering  can  only  be 
realized  by  loving  hearts  that  have  borne  the  agony 
of  suspense.  The  following  morning  Mr.  Wain 
wright,  Elizabeth  and  her  daughter  all  went  to 
church.  Esther  noticed  that  her  father  looked  even 
more  haggard  than  on  the  previous  morning,  his 
breakfast  again  was  left  untouched,  and  he  still  so 
persistently  avoided  her  and  in  other  ways  acted  so 
strangely  that  once  the  fear  that  he  was  losing  his 
mind  came  to  her.  The  mother  and  daughter,  she 
was  sure,  exchanged  looks  that  meant  more  than 
their  words,  and  Esther  felt  that  she  was  bound  ami 
gasping  for  breath  while  her  father  was  being  crushed 
before  her  eyes. 


CHAPTER 


SIX  months  after  the  "Wainwright  farm  had  been 
sold  to  Col.  Barbold,  it  was  the  scene  of  busy 
mining  operations.  Heaps  of  blue  clay  and  slate, 
pools  of  muddy  water,  derricks  and  rough  board 
cabins  disfigured  the  once  well-kept  hillside;  but  the 
Colonel  was  pleased  with  his  bargain,  and  surveyed 
it  each  day  with  increasing  satisfaction.  He  was  now 
on  the  high  road  to  become  the  wealthiest  man  in  the 
county  —  there  was  no  doubt  of  that.  His  son  was  a 
handsome  young  fellow,  who  would  make  a  worthy 
successor  to  the  broad  estate,  and  who  would  have 
the  self-confidence  to  maintain  the  family  position  in 
the  community — that  was  equally  certain.  Indeed, 
there  was  little  more  the  Colonel  could  wish  for,  and 
much  that  he  should  be  thankful  for.  He  realized 
all  this  as  he  started  out  in  his  clean,  glittering  car 
riage  one  frosty  morning  in  early  autumn.  He  seated 
himself  squarely  in  the  middle  of  the  seat,  his  smooth- 
shaven  face  surmounted  by  a  tall,  glossy  black  hat, 
his  coat  buttoned  tightly  over  his  rotund  form,  and 
respectability  and  importance  radiating  from  his  shin 
ing  person.  His  well-gloved  hands  guided  a  thor 
oughbred  team  that  held  a  different  gait  from  the 
native  beasts  which  trod  the  dusty  valley  roads  and 
climbed  the  rain-washed  rocky  hills,  year  in  and  year 
out,  eating  their  fill,  and  dying  peacefully  of  old  age 

(56) 


ESTHER    THE  GENTILE.  57 

when  they  had  honestly  worked  their  score  or  more 
of  years.  The  silky  coats  of  the  Colonel's  horses 
shone  in  the  sun.  They  sniffed  the  cool  air  with  ap 
preciative  nostrils,  and  took  long,  clean  strides,  much 
to  their  master's  satisfaction.  He  took  out  his  watch 
just  as  he  turned  from  the  lane  into  the  pike  road, 
with  the  intention  of  timing  them  to  the  court  house 
at  the  Center,  and  rolled  off  down  the  smooth  high 
way.  All  the  way  there,  three  miles  and  over,  they 
trotted  evenly  at  a  fine  speed,  and  when  the  Colonel 
drew  them  up  in  front  of  the  Post-Office  and  stepped 
out,  all  the  village  loungers  sauntered  up  to  shake 
hands  with  him  and  admire  his  turnout,  as  they  were 
accustomed  to  do.  It  was  one  of  the  sights  of  the 
place,  and  the  principal  event  of  the  day,  to  see 
Colonel  Barbold  drive  in.  When  he  had  tied  his 
horses  and  gone  in  for  his  mail,  the  men  all  looked 
after  him,  and  one  of  them  said :  "  The  Colonel  holds 
his  own  remarkable." 

"So  he  does,  so  he  does;  he  is  well  kept,  and  well 
to  do,"  said  another. 

Inside  the  Colonel  met  a  hearty  good  morning 
from  the  postmaster  and  received  a  goodly  package 
of  letters — nearly  all  there  were,  in  fact,  for  not 
many  of  the  inhabitants  of  that  happy  valley  received 
mail  every  week.  As  he  looked  hastily  over  his  let 
ters,  the  Colonel  dropped  them  one  by  one  on  the 
dingy  counter  between  himself  and  the  dignitary, 
reserving  in  his  hand  only  one.  This  one  was  ad 
dressed  in  the  writing  of  his  son,  who  had  been  gone 
from  home  a  few  days  on  a  little  business  trip.  He 


58  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

was  old  enough  now  to  begin  to  take  an  interest  in, 
and  a  part  in  the  work  of  conducting  the  business, 
and  his  father  was  desirous  of  learning  of  his  success 
in  this,  one  of  his  first  ventures  at  bargaining  alone. 
The  Colonel  deftly  shook  the  other  letters  into  a 
regular  pack  raid  put  them  in  an  inner  pocket.  Then 
he  took  a  seat  near  the  hospitable  old  stove  and 
opened  the  letter  from  his  son. 

Most  of  the  letters  that  came  to  Pineborough  Cen 
ter  were  opened  in  the  little  country  store  that  served 
also  as  Post-Office,  and  the  high  official  whose  privi 
lege  it  was  to  hand  them  out  generally  knew  as 
quickly  as  the  recipient  himself  whether  the  letter 
contained  good  news  or  ill.  He  had  watched  the 
faces  of  so  many  letter  readers  during  his  long  term 
of  office  that  he  knew  just  what  the  rapid,  excited 
glance  down  the  page  meant,  and  that  the  drawn 
brows,  and  the  puzzled,  anxious  expression  of  the 
face  before  him  betokened  trouble  that  the  Colonel 
could  not  see  his  way  through.  His  usually  pleasant 
and  ruddy  countenance  was  blanching,  and  the  lips 
were  tightening  spasmodically.  This  school  of  faces 
had  also  taught  the  official  that  it  would  be  unwise 
for  him  to  ask  any  questions,  but  it  was  not  long  till 
he  was  called  upon  to  lend  assistance.  The  Colonel 
felt  his  own  danger,  and  turned  to  the  man  with  a 
frightened  look  in  his  face,  and  asked  him  if  he  could 
give  him  something  hot  to  drink.  Fortunately  a  dis 
cussion  of  the  merits  of.  the  team  had  kept  the  loaf 
ing  population  outside,  and  after  the  hot  draught 
had  been  swallowed  the  Colonel  was  able  to  brace 


ESTHER   THE   GENTILE.  59 

himself  and  go  out.  The  little  crowd  appealed  to  him 
noisily  to  settle  several  disputed  points  about  the 
horses,  and  was  closing  around  him  when  the  men 
saw  that  something  had  gone  wrong;  the  Colonel's 
manner  had  changed;  he  seemed  bowed  down  and 
aged. 

"He's  had  a  spell,"  one  man  whispered;  "his  fa 
ther  died  in  one."  "  He's  like  to  be  took  any  min 
ute,"  another  muttered,  and  they  all  fell  back  and 
let  him  pass.  Some  one  nearest  the  horses'  heads 
untied  them  and  partly  turned  them  about,  for  which 
the  Colonel  thanked  him  in  an  absent  way,  and  then 
drew  up  the  lines  and  was  gone.  When  his  horses' 
feet  again  struck  the  pike  road  their  gait  did  not 
seem  to  interest  the  man  who  drove  them.  They 
tossed  their  proud  heads  and  went  with  the  wind  for 
a  little  time,  and  then  slackened  their  speed  as  they 
pleased.  The  same  hand  drew  upon  the  bit  by  starts, 
but  the  mind  that  guided  them  was  distracted,  and 
they  quickly  perceived  it.  It  was  a  short  journey 
from  the  Barbold  mansion  to  the  "  Center,"  but  in 
that  short  span  a  lofty  man,  in  the  prime  of  life,  had 
been  broken  like  a  reed.  As  soon  as  the  Colonel's 
back  was  turned,  the  lounging  jockeys  and  small 
traders  swarmed  into  the  store  and  plied  the  post 
master  with  questions,  but  he  could  only  tell  them 
that  a  letter  from  young  Barbold  had  brought  bad 
news  to  his  father.  Not  one  in  the  company  could 
conjecture  what  could  have  befallen  so  clever  a  young 
man  as  Tom  Barbold.  Not  one  had  a  clue  to  any 
thing  that  would  lead  him  into  desperate  ventures  or 


60  ESTHER    THE   Q  EN  TILE. 

dangerous  crimes.  He  had  no  habits  that  would 
cause  them  to  suspect  he  had  forged  his  father's  name 
and  run  away  with  a  large  amount  of  money,  for 
everybody  knew  he  might  have  all  the  money  he 
wanted,  and  was  sole  heir  apparent  to  his  father's 
fortune.  He  had  no  heart-entanglements  that  any 
body  knew  of,  and  consequently  there  was  no  proba 
bility  that  he  had  eloped  with  some  poor  girl  whom 
the  Barbold  pride  would  not  tolerate.  But  they  had 
not  many  days  of  suspense.  Although  the  exact 
contents  of  the  letter  received  by  the  Colonel  that 
fair  morning  were  never  known  outside  of  the  Bar- 
bold  mansion,  it  was  well  understood  throughout  the 
length  and  breadth  of  Pineborough  township,  long 
before  the  Colonel  arose  from  what  was  for  many 
weeks  considered  his  death  bed,  that  Tom  Barbold 
had  gone  to  Utah  and  had  become  a  Latter  Day 
Saint.  One  of  the  interested  parties  to  whom  this 
news  soon  found  its  way  was  Ezekiel  Blounce,  and 
the  next  westward-bound  train  from  Rocky-ford  car 
ried  an  old  man  with  a  careworn  face. 


CHAPTER  VIEL 


IT  was  at  the  close  of  the  first  chill  day  of  autumn 
that  Tom  Barbold  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  lit 
tle  house  in  Salt  Lake  City  and  was  met  by  Elias 
Wainwright  himself,  now  a  pale  and  shrinking  old 
man,  but  who  was  surprised  into  an  ecstacy  of  de 
light  and  forgetfulness  at  seeing  a  face  from  the  home 
country.  He  took  the  boy  in  his  arms  and  clung  to 
him  with  tears  raining  down  his  face  uijtil  Tom  asked 
if  Esther  was  at  home.  "Oh,  yes,  to  be  sure  you 
want  to  see  Esther,  and  she  will  be  glad  to  see  you; 
I  was  so  delighted  myself,  I  forgot  everything  for  a 
moment;  I  will  bring  her,  sit  here;  indeed  we  are 
glad  to  see  you,  my  boy.  Esther,  Esther,"  he  called 
as  he  went  out,  "  Come  quick,  my  child,  some  one 
from  Pineborough  is  here,"  and  when  she  came,  hur 
rying,  surprised  at  his  cheery  voice,  he  caught  her 
by  the  hand  and  led  her  in  before  Tom  Barbold. 

He  would  have  greeted  the  girl  warmly,  but  she 
had  hoped  to  see  her  old  teacher,  and  young  Bar- 
bold's  presence  she  could  not  understand.  An  em 
barrassing  blush  flew  to  her  cheek  and  made  it 
impossible  for  her  to  look  in  his  face  after  the  first 
glance.  She  gave  him  her  hand,  however,  and  be, 
like  all  men  of  his  type,  took  the  blush  for  more  than 
it  really  meant 

"Esther  is  glad  to  see  you,  Tom,"  said  Mr.  Waiii- 
6  (61) 


62  ESTHER    THE    GENTILE. 

wright,  "  and  we  both  want  to  hear  all  the  news  from 
home,  how  does  it  look  at  the  old  place,  and  how  are 
all  the  folks?  Your  father,  is  he  well?"  And  so 
he  went  on  with  questions  which  the  young  man 
answered,  while  he  kept  his  eyes  on  Esther  and 
addressed  an  occasional  remark  to  her.  Mr.  Wain- 
wright  seemed  to  have  been  lifted  out  of  his  sur 
roundings,  and  to  see  through  the  medium  of  the 
new  presence  all  the  old  scenes  of  his  far-off  home, 
but  suddenly  he  came  back  to  the  boy  himself  and 
asked  where  he  was  bound  and  what  had  brought 
him  there. 

"  Oh,  I  have  come  to  join  the  Saints,"  young  Bar- 
bold  answered  fearlessly,  and  looked  first  at  the  father 
and  then  at  the  daughter  for  approval.  The  revul 
sion  that  came  over  Esther's  face  did  not  escape  him, 
and  Mr.  Wainwright,  instead  of  welcoming  him  cor 
dially  to  the  fold,  seemed  frightened  and  glanced 
quickly  towards  the  door. 

For  a  moment,  it  seemed  as  if  the  subject  would 
not  be  touched  upon  again,  but  Mr.  Wainwright  ral 
lied  a  little  and  said  it  was  to  him  the  "perfect  way;" 
he  wished  Esther  could  see  it  so,  and  he  looked  at 
her  an  instant  as  if  a  faint  hope  had  sprung  up  in  his 
heart  now  that  this  young  friend  had  come.  But 
Esther  sat  with  compressed  lips,  and  young  Barbold 
thought  he  could  see  tears  glistening  in  her  eyes.  He 
was  sadly  disappointed  to  find  this  state  of  affairs  in 
the  Wainwright  family;  he  had  been  led,  not  directly 
perhaps,  to  suppose  that  by  this  time  Esther  would 
be  firm  in  the  faith,  and  then  —  well,  he  had  indulged 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  C3 

in  a  great  many  dreams  as  to  what  would  naturally 
follow  his  appearance  at  Salt  Lake  City. 

Ever  since  the  party  of  converts  had  left  Rocky- 
ford  under  the  care  of  Elder  Bean,  Tom  Barbold 
had  been  in  correspondence  with  him,  and  at  last  he 
had  been  induced  by  flattery,  and  promises  of  posi 
tion,  and  the  hope  of  winning  Esther  Wainwright  for 
his  wife,  to  leave  his  father,  his  home,  and  all  his 
bright  prospects  there,  for  the  life  of  a  Mormon  Saint. 

"It  is  just  such  young  blood  that  we  need,"  Elder 
Bean  had  said  when  he  was  talking  it  over  with  Eliz 
abeth,  "and  if  Esther  can't  be  brought  to  see  her 
duty  in  one  way,  perhaps  she  can  in  another." 

"It  is  a  wise  scheme,"  Elizabeth  had  assented; 
"one  worthy  of  your  noble  mind,  Elder  Bean;  you 
have  always  the  good  of  the  Church  at  heart.  Send 
for  him,  persuade  him  to  come,  and  Esther  will  marry 
him,  of  course." 

"I  hate  to  give  the  girl  up,  you  know  that,  Eliza 
beth,  but  I  have  used  every  argument  I  can  think  of; 
she  is  set  against  me." 

And  now  he  was  here;  the  young  man  who  was  to 
solve  the  problem  of  what  to  do  with  Esther,  for 
Elizabeth  and  Elder  Bean,  whose  consciences  would 
not  allow  them  to  rest  while  the  girl  was  outside  the 
Church.  When  the  door  of  the  little  room  opened 
to  admit  Elizabeth  and  her  daughter,  all  the  occu 
pants  arose  and  the  three  pairs  of  eyes  turned  upon 
them  with  widely  different  expressions.  Young  Bar- 
bold's  were  full  of  wonder,  for  Elizabeth  walked 


64  ESTHER   THE   GENTILE. 

straight  to  her  husband's  side,  and  by  her  very  atti 
tude  demanded  recognition. 

"  This  is  my  wife,"  said  Mr.  "Wainwright,  and  Eliz 
abeth  held  out  her  hand  stiffly  to  the  stranger,  who 
took  it,  while  he  continued  to  look  wonderingly  from 
from  one  member  of  the  group  to  another.  He  had 
never  been  apprised  of  Mr.  Wainwright's  marriage, 
and  was  so  much  surprised  that  he  forgot  to  say  any 
thing  before  Elizabeth  turned  from  him  and  cast  upon 
her  husband  a  look  so  fraught  with  righteous  scorn 
that  the  frail  man  seemed  to  quiver  under  it  as  though 
it  were  a  north  wind.  Then  he  stepped  forward  and 
took  Elizabeth's  daughter  by  the  hand  and  said  falter- 
ingly,  "  This  is  my  wife,  too." 

If  a  thunderbolt  had  resounded  from  the  little  white 
patch  of  plaster  over  his  head  it  could  not  have  more 
completely  stunned  the  mind  of  this  young  man  who 
was  unaccustomed  to  out-of-the-beaten-way  occur 
rences,  and  whose  mind  was  naturally  slow  to  grasp 
new  situations.  He  raised  his  eyes  for  an  instant  to 
see  that  the  woman  before  him  was  young,  a  girl  like 
Esther  in  years,  but  unlike  her  in  every  other  respect. 
He  dared  not  look  at  Esther,  but  he  caught  sight  of 
her  flaming  cheeks  and  he  knew  without  seeing  them 
that  her  eyes  were  dry  now,  and  hot  and  hard  looking. 
If  he  could  have  known  the  tears  that  had  rained 
from  them  since  that  fatal  day  when  her  father  and 
Elizabeth  and  her  daughter  went  from  the  little  home 
and  left  her  almost  wild  with  fear  and  grief,  he  would 
have  wondered  that  they  did  not  burn  out  and  leave 
her  sightless.  She  had  borne  it  as  best  she  could, 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  65 

though  sometimes  she  wondered  how  she  did  endure 
to  see  it  all  and  feel  herself  powerless.  Elizabeth 
was  still  sternly  just  to  her,  but  the  girl-wife  taunted 
and  upbraided  her  with  living  a  useless  and  sinful 
life.  At  times  she  felt  too  much  crushed  to  retaliate, 
and  at  others  she  would  send  the  girl  from  her  with 
a  torrent  of  indignation  inspired  by  her  innocence 
and  the  knowledge  of  her  right  to  her  place  at  her 
father's  side.  It  was  a  terrible  life  for  a  girl,  and 
Esther  could  feel  herself  growing  unforgiving.  She 
realized  that  a  change  was  taking  place  in  herself, 
and  that  from  a  thoughtless  girl  she  was  being  trans 
formed  into  a  care-burdened,  sometimes  she  thought 
a  hard,  woman — like  Elizabeth,  she  would  say  to 
herself;  and  then  she  would  resolve  anew  to  bear  her 
lot  patiently,  and  to  be  ever  ready  to  give  a  word  of 
love  and  comfort  to  her  father  when  opportunity  of 
fered,  and  never  at  any  time  to  add  to  his  sorrow  by 
even  a  reproachful  look. 

During  all  these  months  Esther  had  a  secret 
trouble  of  her  own,  which  she  could  explain  to  n» 
one.  She  had  neither  seen  nor  heard  from  the  young 
surveyor  since  the  night  he  had  been  at  their  house. 
The  last  limit  of  the  time  he  thought  to  be  gone  was 
long  past,  and  yet  no  tidings,  and  he  came  not. 
While  the  long,  beautiful  summer  lingered,  Esther 
was  accustomed  to  sit  in  the  low  door  in  the  evening, 
and  watch,  thinking  because  he  once  came  at  that 
hour  he  might  again.  But  now  the  wind  was  atorm- 
laden,  and  the  nights  were  dark  and  cold.  Esther's 
life  was  confined  mainly  to  the  little  house  whose 


66  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

only  semblance  of  a  home  was  that  it  provided  shel 
ter  for  its  inmates.  Their  little  sitting  room  was 
often  cheered  now  by  the  presence  of  young  Bar- 
bold,  and  although  Mr.  Wainwright  never  again  for 
got  himself  in  the  presence  of  the  young  man,  he 
was  always  glad  to  see  him,  and  soon  showed  an  in 
terest  in  his  connection  with  the  Church.  Esther 
herself  could  not  be  indifferent  to  his  coming,  it  re 
lieved  the  tedium  and  the  embarrassment  of  an 
evening  alone  with  the  family.  For  a  time  she  was 
wholly  unsuspicious  of  the  object  of  his  frequent 
visits.  The  license  that  is  permitted  old  acquaint 
ances  in  a  new  country,  the  real  pleasure  she  felt  in 
seeing  an  old  friend,  and  the  remembrance  she  had 

O  7 

of  his  manner  when  a  boy  at  school,  were  all  reasons 
for  this.  He  had  the  habit  of  assuming  privileges 
that  other  boys  would  hesitate  to  take.  No  doubt 
his  father's  position  as  the  largest  land  owner  and 
the  richest  man  in  the  neighborhood  gave  a  lordli 
ness  to  his  youthful  bearing  that  he  would  not  have 
taken  on  under  other  circumstances,  but  "it  was  in 
the  blood,"  the  old  farmers  said,  and  it  "would  crop 
out."  All  these  considerations  combined  to  make 
Esther  look  upon  Tom  merely  as  an  old  schoolmate 
and  friend.  His  conversion  to  the  Church  had  sur 
prised  and  pained  her,  but  it  was  of  so  little  conse 
quence  to  her  compared  with  her  father's  conversion 
that  she  did  not  dwell  upon  it. 

After  awhile  it  came  about  naturally  enough  that 
the  two  young  people  were  left  often  alone.  Eliza 
beth  went  away  on  a  visit,  a  kind  of  missionary  tour, 


ESTHER    THE   Q  EN  TILE.  67 

to  some  of  the  outlying  towns  in  the  Territory,  and 
while  she  was  gone  Mr.  Wainwright  invariably  went 
to  church  in  the  evening,  with  a  determination, 
Esther  thought,  not  to  give  himself  an  opportunity 
to  reflect  upon  his  own  harassed  life,  for  it  was  evi 
dent  now  that  between  the  close  scrutiny  Elizabeth 
gave  his  every  action,  and  his  uncertainty  as  to  how 
he  was  expected  to  deport  himself  towards  his  young 
wife,  the  poor  man  was  at  his  wits'  end.  Still  he 
never  murmured.  Elizabeth  had  left  the  command 
—  she  seldom  uttered  anything  but  commands — that 
her  daughter  should  go  to  church  daily  with  Mr. 
Wainwright,  and  for  a  week  this  instruction  was 
carried  out,  apparently  without  a  thought  of  waver 
ing  from  it.  But  about  this  time,  Drusilla,  for  some 
unaccountable  reason,  seemed  to  develop  a  mind  of 
her  own,  the  whole  force  of  which  new  sense  was  ex 
pressed  in  a  desire  to  stay  at  home,  and  indoors,  at 
all  hours  of  day  and  night.  Bitter  and  hard  to  con 
trol  as  Esther's  feelings  toward  this  girl  often  were, 
she  also  sometimes  pitied  her,  her  life  seemed  such  a 
hopeless  blank  of  submission  to  a  hard,  unnatural 
mother,  but  when  she  took  upon  herself  the  part  of 
a  spy  upon  Esther's  deportment,  then  open  war  was 
declared.  Esther  felt  that  she  could  endure  no  more, 
and  after  Drusilla  one  morning  came  into  the  room, 
while  young  Barbold  was  there,  and  took  her  seat 
with  an  air  that  said  plainly  enough,  "  This  couple 
need  watching,  and  I  feel  it  to  be  my  duty,  as  well 
as  my  privilege,  to  attend  to  it,"  Esther  no  longer 


68  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

felt  any  doubt  that  it  was  to  scrutinize  her  actions 
that  her  father's  young  wife  remained  at  home. 

It  was  during  a  ride  they  took  together  that  same 
afternoon  that  Tom  Barhold  told  Esther  he  had 
come  to  Utah  with  the  hope  of  winning  her  love  and 
making  her  his  wife.  It  would  be  but  a  dull  woman 
who  could  be  wooed  by  a  man  and  not  know  that  he 
was  trying  to  gain  her  love,  and  it  cannot  be  said  of 
Esther  that  she  remained  insensible  to  the  meaning 
of  young  Barbold's  attentions  to  her  as  their  ac 
quaintance  progressed  and  he  became  a  more  and 
more  frequent  visitor,  but  when  the  declaration 
came  she  was  surprised  at  its  earnestness,  and  the 
young  man  was  vastly  more  surprised  at  the  unquali 
fied  refusal  of  his  suit.  He  had  never  attributed 
Esther's  avoidance  of  him  at  times  to  a  sincere  wish 
to  be  less  in  his  company,  or  to  a  desire  to  discour 
age  his  intimacy.  It  was  only  girlish  diffidence  and 
coquetry  in  his  eyes,  and  added  to  his  admiration  of 
her.  He  was  not  blessed  with  the  quick  discern 
ment  of  some  lovers,  nor  the  sensitive  nature  that 
troubled  itself  with  doubts  about  how  he  was  held  in 
other  people's  estimation.  His  self-appreciation  was 
enough  to  blind  him  to  the  opinions  of  others,  and 
the  natural  effect  of  the  refusal  of  his  hand  by  a 
pretty  girl,  was  anger.  It  seemed  unwarrantable  to 
him  from  every  point  of  view,  and  he  was  foolish 
enough  to  advance  the  arguments  of  policy  and  self- 
protection  to  Esther  on  the  impulse  of  his  wounded 
pride.  This  proceeding  made  Esther's  part  compar 
atively  easy,  and  she  told  him  with  scorn  that  she 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  69 

was  sorry  he  had  not  learned  to  know  her  better 
than  to  think  she  could  be  won  by  threats  of  what 
would  befall  her  if  she  did  not  consent.  Resentful 
as  were  the  feelings  which  this  ungallant  treatment 
caused  in  Esther's  mind,  she  could  not  forget  that 
she  had  lost  a  friend.  Her  friends  were  so  few  that 
she  had  looked  forward  with  dread  to  the  result  of 
the  avowal  she  had  heard,  and  which  she  had  known 
must  come,  but  which  she  had  been  powerless  to 
avoid.  Now  that  it  was  made,  however,  she  discov 
ered  that  through  it  she  not  only  lost  a  friend,  but 
gained  an  enemy,  if  young  Barbold  gave  up  the 
hope  of  winning  her.  To  hold  out  that  false  hope 
to  him  and  thus  save  herself  from  his  open  enmity 
was  an  idea  that  had  no  place  in  her  thoughts,  and 
aside  from  its  baseness,  the  continuance  of  his  atten 
tions  after  what  had  occurred  between  them  would 
have  been  more  disagreeable  than  anything  she 
feared,  and  she  unhesitatingly  chose  the  result  of  ex 
pressing  her  true  feelings  without  reserve. 

But  of  all  kinds  of  lovers,  the  egotist  who  thinks 
nothing  but  a  passing  whim  could  cause  a  woman  to 
refuse  him  is  the  last  to  give  up,  and  to  her  dismay 
Esther  saw  that  when  Tom  Barbold  discovered  the 
effect  of  his  threats  he  merely  laughed  and  said  he 
could  "wait,  he  guessed,  until  she  changed  her  mind; 
it  would  not  be  long,  perhaps. 

That  night  Esther  longed,  oh,  how  sorrowfully, 
none  but  a  deserted  heart  knows,  to  go  to  her  father 
and  tell  him  her  troubles,  but  his  own  sad  face  and 
hie  strange,  preoccupied  manner  forbade  it.  She 


70  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

went  to  him  once  with  an  almost  bursting  heart,  but 
when  he  had  taken  her  mechanically  in  his  arms  she 
only  asked  if  she  could  do  anything  for  him,  and  he 
answered  "Nothing,  nothing,"  and  hurried  off  to 
church.  A  great  gulf  had  formed  between  them, 
and  each  carried  a  heart  as  utterly  alone  as  if  the 
other  had  been  numbered  with  the  dead. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


SALT  LAKE  CITY  is  the  great  head-center  of 
Mormondom  and  Mormonism,  but  there  are 
scores  of  towns  and  villages  in  Utah  and  the  adja 
cent  Territories  that  were  established  by  Mormon 
elders  under  the  direction  of  Brigham  Young,  and 
later  by  President  Taylor,  where  the  Mormon  law 
is  as  strictly  and  promptly  enforced  as  it  is  in  Salt 
Lake  City.  These  outlying  communities  are  called, 
in  Mormon  parlance,  "  Stakes  of  Zion." 

It  was  to  visit  some  of  these  that  Elizabeth  had 
been  sent  with  Elder  Bean,  a  man  high  in  church  au 
thority,  possessed  of  great  wealth  and  the  implicit 
confidence  of  the  head  of  the  Church,  but  lacking, 
somewhat,  in  executive  power.  A  better  combina 
tion  from  which  to  form  a  good  overseer  could  not 
well  have  been  made  than  this  impulsive  elder,  who 
had  the  legal  authority  and  the  advancement  of  the 
Church  interests  at  heart  at  all  hazards,  and  Eliza 
beth,  who  had  the  iron  will  and  the  ability  to  carry 
out  the  decrees.  They  made  many  visits  to  the  villa 
ges  that  were  unquestionably  loyal,  as  well  as  to  some 
that  were  said  to  be  more  or  less  disaffected.  They 
met  with  no  trouble  in  ascertaining  who  were  the 
contumacious  parties  in  any  of  these  places.  Every 
man  was  a  spy  upon  his  fellow  men,  and  the  least 
sign  of  wavering  from  faith  in  the  "New  Light,"  or 

(71) 


72  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

of  inclination  to  retrograde  toward  the  faith  of  their 
fathers,  was  marked  against  both  men  and  women, 
and  reported  through  the  proper  channels  to  their 
ruler,  the  man  of  almost  unlimited  capabilities  and 
resources,  the  man  almost  untaught  of  books  and  un 
learned  in  the  history  of  the  world  and  the  methods 
of  other  great  rulers,  but  of  more  than  Napoleonic 
strategy  and  shrewdness,  a  man  with  an  absolutely 
pitiless  heart — Brigham  Young. 

This  holy  pair  always  managed  to  leave  with  the 
backsliders  in  any  village  the  impression  that  they 
could  go  on  in  the  way  they  had  begun  with  impu 
nity.  Elder  Bean  and  Sister  Elizabeth  did  not  consti 
tute  themselves  a  committee  to  visit  and  remonstrate 
with  the  recalcitrant  members  of  their  flock  on  the 
error  of  their  ways,  nor  did  they  appoint  any  others 
to  perform  what  is  considered  a  duty  of  love  in  other 
churches. 

They  merely  came,  and  saw,  and  went. 

Rewarding  the  most  faithful  with  promises  of  in 
creased  leniency  and  honor  after  they  should  have 
passed  from  this  earthly,  working  vineyard,  but  leav 
ing  the  sinners  who  dared  to  doubt,  indulging  in  the 
renewed  hope  that  the  day  had  gone  by  when  the  doc 
trine  of  the  Latter  Day  Saints  was  all-powerful  among 
them. 

The  day  has  indeed  gone  by  when  the  awful  doc 
trine  of  Blood  Atonement  can  be  openly  and  defiantly 
carried  out  by  the  Mormon  priests.  But  if  the  true 
history  of  the  tour  of  Elder  Bean  and  Sister  Eliza 
beth  were  written,  it  would  show  in  every  hamlet 


ESTHER   THE   GENTILE.  73 

through  which  they  passed,  in  every  household  in 
which  they  tarried,  an  increased  vigilance  on  the 
part  of  each  faithful  individual  to  comply  with  all 
the  requirements  of  his  superiors,  and  to  spy  out 
every  shortcoming  of  his  brethren  and  sisters  in  the 
church.  More  than  this,  it  would  bring  to  light 
a  bloody  vengeance  upon  every  suspected  man  or 
woman,  for  Blood  Atonement  for  the  breaking  of 
endowment  vows  was  binding  in  Utah  in  the  days 
when  Brigham  Young  was  absolute.  It  is  not  so 
now,  because  the  encroachment  of  civilization  upon 
the  domain  of  Mormonism  has  made  communication 
with  United  States  authorities  so  much  more  swift 
and  sure.  If  the  awful  decree  is  carried  out  now, 
instead  of  striking  a  man  down,  and  burying  him 
with  a  parade  as  a  public  threat  to  others,  he  must 
be  laid  in  wait  for  and  assassinated  in  dark  and  secret 
places,  and  his  remains  disposed  of  in  the  dead  of 
night,  or  he  must  be  decoyed  away  upon  a  long  jour 
ney  that  promises  him  freedom,  but  which  ends  only 
in  the  freedom  of  his  soul  from  the  body.  For 
although  the  criminal  conviction  of  Mormons  has 
been  rare  in  the  United  States  courts,  the  Mormon 
leaders  are  sagacious  enough  to  know  that  if  crimes 
against  national  statutes  were  committed  in  too 
glaring  a  manner,  somebody  would  be  forced  to 
testify  against  them.  Mormons  never  testify  against 
each  other  in  the  Territorial  courts,  and  in  the  over 
whelmingly  Mormon  districts  Gentile  citizens  would 
not  dare  if  they  were  allowed  the  opportunity,  which 
they  never  are.  But  the  most  terrible  phase  of  the 


ESTHER    THE  GENTILE. 


doctrine  of  Blood  Atonement  is,  that  if  the  crime  of 
breaking  one  of  the  vows  which  endows  a  man  with 
a  saintship  in  the  Mormon  church  is  not  atoned  for 
by  one  generation,  it  must  be  by  the  next,  even  unto 
the  fifth  or  sixth.  If  it  is  not  deemed  judicious,  then, 
that  the  blood  of  a  man  or  a  woman  shall  be  spilled 
to  wash  away  his  or  her  sins  against  the  Church,  the 
blood  of  their  children,  or  their  children's  children 
must  atone  for  them.  By  no  other  means  of  grace 
can  the  spirits  of  such  often ders  ever  reach  Paradise. 
Human  sacrifice  alone  can  save  them  from  eternal 
damnation. 

Such  is  one  of  the  strongest  tenets  of  the  Church 
of  the  Latter  Day  Saints.  If  Brigham  Young  did 
not  complete  his  vengeance  upon  any  disobedient 
family,  it  was  simply  because  he  did  not  live  long 
enough.  He  was  an  old  man  when  he  died.  He 
had  taken  scores  of  bright  boys  under  his  espionage 
and  raised  them  to  do  his  bidding.  Many  of  them, 
when  young  men,  worshipped  him  almost  as  a  god, 
but  he  goaded  them  on  to  the  commission  of  crimes 
so  terrible,  and  practices  so  revolting  to  any  but  a 
nature  like  his  own,  that  even  a  life-long  faith  at  last 
gave  way  to  conscience  and  reason,  and  many  of 
them  openly  rebelled. 

As  a  punishment,  their  families  suffered  every  in 
dignity  and  every  torture  his  fiendish  revenge  could 
invent.  Daughters  were  given  in  marriage  to  high 
priests  and  elders  because  they  had  greater  license  to 
treat  their  wives  as  slaves,  under  cover  of  the  doc 
trine  that  to  be  the  wife  of  an  elder  on  earth  exalts 


ESTHER    THE   Q  EN  TILE.  75 

a  woman  to  places  in  heaven  which  she  could  never 
otherwise  reach.  Sons  of  the  hated  father  or  mother 
were  detailed  to  perform  acts  of  cruelty  upon  other 
condemned  families,  and  forced  into  polygamy  at  the 
risk  of  their  own  lives.  When  it  was  evident  the  de 
sired  end  could  not  be  reached  by  threats  and  intimi 
dation,  Brigham  Young  could  flatter  and  fawn,  and 
even  simulate  love,  equal  to  Kichard  the  Lion-hearted, 
and  while  waiting  to  scourge  his  victim  he  could  lure 
him  on  with  smiles,  and  the  expression  of  fatherly 
advice  and  sympathy,  and  bright  promises  of  tem 
poral  power  and  spiritual  reward,  never  betraying  by 
a  look  nor  a  hasty  word  his  real  purpose.  His  most 
intimate  acquaintances  testify  that  Brigham  Young 
was  a  marked  example  of  the  almost  invariable  rule, 
that  to  govern  others  successfully,  a  man  must  be 
able  to  govern  himself.  He  was  not  given  to  great 
bursts  of  passion  at  any  time,  but  when  he  knew  his 
power,  and  felt  it  to  be  safe,  his  vindictiveness  could 
express  itself  in  masterly  and  crushing  scorn.  On 
the  other  hand,  perhaps  the  most  anomolous  charac 
teristic  of  this  man,  who  held  a  kingdom  in  the 
midst  of  a  republic,  was  his  innate  cowardice  in  the 
face  of  physical  danger.  This  trait  was  notorious 
among  his  followers,  as  well  as  among  the  officers 
and  soldiers  of  Fort  Douglas,  so  long  the  only  avenue 
of  escape  for  outlawed  Mormons. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  death  of  the  Prophet 
that  these  emissaries  of  the  Church,  Elder  Bean  and 
Sister  Elizabeth,  were  sent  out,  and,  as  if  he  had  a 
forewarning  of  his  fast  approaching  end,  and  wished 


76  ESTHER    THE  Q  EN  TILE. 

to  reinforce  his  army  for  longer  survival  after  him, 
he  had  given  orders  that  the  inspection  should  be 
unusually  thorough.  Discipline  was  to  be  enforced 
in  every  instance — that  was  the  rule  always;  but 
upon  this  occasion  Elder  Bean  and  Sister  Elizabeth 
were  empowered  to  give  "  counsel "  in  doubtful  cases, 
without  waiting  to  refer  the  facts  to  the  Prophet. 
That  meant  a  great  deal.  Everything  was  done  ac 
cording  to  "counsel,"  which  was  in  fact  Brigham 
Young's  personal  and  irrevocable  decree.  The 
power  of  his  generalship  lay  largely  in  his  personal 
attention  to  details,  and  a  case  of  importance  was 
rarely  decided  without  his  intimate  knowledge  and 
his  individual  judgment.  To  empower  others  with 
the  right  to  give  "counsel"  meant  to  constitute  them 
witness,  lawyer,  jury,  judge  and  high  priest,  for  the 
time  being,  in  both  temporal  and  spiritual  affairs,  for 
church  and  state  are  inseparable  in  Utah. 

After  the  pair  had  journeyed  many  days  on  their 
blood-righteous  errand,  they  stopped  at  a  little  ob 
scure  "Stake  of  Zion,"  away  out  in  the  western  por 
tion  of  the  Prophet's  domain,  and  were  entertained 
in  the  only  "plank  house"  belonging  to  the  village. 
The  habitations  were  mostly  "dugouts,"  though 
there  were  a  few  sod  houses  and  one  or  two  adobes. 
It  was  time  for  the  mid-day  meal  when  they  arrived, 
and  after  they  were  seated  around  the  table,  the  "  Sis 
ter"  of  the  house  served  a  plate  and  asked  to  be  ex 
cused,  while  she  carried  it  into  an  adjoining  room. 

"Is  some  member  of  the  household  sick?"  asked 
Elizabeth  of  the  woman's  husband,  as  she  passed  out. 


ESTHER   THE  GENTILE.  77 

"Yes;  a  young  man  who  escaped  from  the  Indians 
took  refuge  with  us ;  he  was  hungry  and  we  fed  him ; 
but  whether  my  good  wife  will  succeed  in  nursing 
him  back  to  health,  is  extremely  doubtful,  I  think; 
he  was  badly  cut  up,  and  does  not  seem  to  gain 
much." 

"Is  he  one  of  the  Lord's  people?"  asked  Elder 
Bean  in  his  piping  voice,  and  Elizabeth  put  down 
her  knife  and  fork  while  they  waited  a  reply,  as  if  to 
express  her  conviction  that  it  was  much  more  im 
portant  than  the  gratification  of  her  appetite. 

"Well,  no,  he  is  not;  but  he  is  a  poor,  suffering 
creature,  unable  to  travel  any  further.  In  fact,  it  was 
by  the  greatest  exertion  he  came  this  far;  he  was  al 
most  ready  to  faint  from  loss  of  blood  when  he 
reached  our  door,  and  — " 

The  man  would  have  said  more  in  extenuation  of 
an  act  which  the  scriptural  injunctions  he  had  re 
ferred  to  evidently  did  not  wholly  justify  in  the 
minds  of  his  guests,  but  Elizabeth  interrupted  him 
with :  "  It  was  well  enough  to  give  him  shelter,  but 
if  he  cannot  be  brought  to  see  and  acknowledge  that 
he  was  saved  by  the  interposition  of  Providence 
through  the  Church  of  the  Saints,  he  should  not  be 
pampered.  Elder  Bean  will  see  this  person  after 
dinner,  and  advise  you  and  our  Sister-in-the-Lord  in 
regard  to  him." 

The  man  looked  in  astonishment.     Could  it  be 

that  he  was  in  his  own  house  and  heard  such  things? 

He  would  have  replied  with  hot  and  resentful  words, 

but  that  he  was  so  dazed  he  could  say  nothing  for  a 

6 


78  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

moment,  and  when  he  remembered  who  these  people 
were,  and  that  he  was  in  their  power,  he  swallowed 
his  wrath  and  said  nothing;  but  when  his  wife  re 
turned  to  her  place  she  quickly  discovered  the  em 
barrassment  that  had  fallen  upon  the  company 
during  her  absence,  and  knew  by  her  husband's  face 
that  he  was  angry.  She  dared  ask  no  questions, 
however,  and  the  meal  was  eaten  almost  in  silence. 
When  it  was  finished,  though  the  husband  and  wife 
were  wishing  to  be  alone,  they  knew  it  would  not  be 
wise  to  show  any  anxiety.  It  was  late  in  the  after 
noon  before  Elizabeth  went  out,  and  Elder  Bean 
went  into  the  sick  man's  room  and  closed  the  door 
after  him  that  he  might  talk  with  him  uninterrupt 
edly,  he  said  significantly,  concerning  the  salvation  of 
his  soul.  Then  the  frightened  wife  was  clasped  in 
her  husband's  arms,  while  they  talked  hurriedly  in 
whispers,  hardly  daring  to  breathe  for  fear  they 
should  be  overheard  and  their  treason  suspected,  for 
in  the  short  time  since  the  arrival  of  the  function 
aries  of  the  Church,  the  "  Brother "  with  whom  they 
sojourned  had  decided  to  escape  from  the  kingdom 
of  the  Latter  Day  Saints  at  the  first  opportunity.  It 
was  not  alone  the  indignity  that  had  been  extended 
to  him  and  his  household  by  Elder  Bean  and  Eliza 
beth  that  caused  him  to  reach  this  decision ;  that  was 
only  one  of  the  numerous  and  multiform  insults  he 
had  had  to  bear,  and  while  it  was  not  nearly  so  great 
as  some  others,  it  was  the  last  straw,  and,  he  said  to 
himself,  he  would  submit  to  no  more. 

One  of  the  cruelest  things  he  had  been  called  upon 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  79 

to  do  was  to  collect  taxes  from  the  poor  people  of 
his  neighborhood.  Nearly  all  the  families  for  miles 
around  about  had  traveled  long,  wearisome  journeys 
to  reach  the  New  Zion,  and  many  of  them  had  spent 
their  last  cent  long  before  they  reached  the  end,  but 
a  productive  year  and  hard  labor  brought  something, 
and  a  share  of  whatever  it  was,  much  or  little,  must 
go  to  the  church.  A  tenth  of  a  man's  income  was  in 
variably  collected  by  law,  but  the  exaction  seldom 
ended  there.  Special  taxes  were  levied  upon  all 
kinds  of  property  and  with  all  kinds  of  pretexts, 
and  no  man  dared  disobey.  If  the  tithe  collector 
chanced  to  be  a  man  with  a  heart  less  hard  than  iron, 
he  must  necessarily  suffer  in  carrying  out  his  mas 
ter's  will,  for  children  must  cry  for  bread  and  go 
hungry  to  a  cold  bed  rather  than  that  the  Church 
should  call  for  money  and  the  call  go  unheeded.  At 
the  same  time  the  material  interests  were  so  wisely 
fostered  by  Brigham  Young  that  if  any  of  his  people 
suffered  for  physical  comforts  it  was  for  special  rea 
son,  but  these  special  reasons  were  not  few.  Heavy 
taxes  were  imposed  for  purposes  of  intimidation,  for 
the  punishment  of  various  offenses  against  the 
Church  hierarchy,  and  in  many  instances  because  it 
was  believed  by  the  egotist  who  ruled  that  it  could 
be  done  with  impunity;  that  the  blind  faith  of  his 
subjects  was  unalterable. 

The  man  who  now  talked  with  bated  breath  be 
hind  barred  doors,  to  his  own  wife  in  his  own  house, 
had  taken  money  from  poor  farmers  and  mechanics 
when  he  knew  they  would  rather  die  than  go  home 


80  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

and  tell  their  families  that  their  hard-earned  savings 
had  all  gone  to  the  Church.  But  that  was  all  over 
now ;  he  was  yet  bodily  in  the  toils,  but  his  mind  was 
free,  and  his  first  words  to  his  wife  were  to  tell  her 
that  her  prayer  had  been  answered :  that  he  was  no 
longer  a  Mormon  at  heart.  To  the  woman  who  has 
suffered  the  martyrdom  of  apprehension  that  is  in 
separable  from  the  lot  of  Mormon  wifehood,  whether 
her  husband  is  a  polygamist  or  not,  no  words  could 
be  sweeter  than  these,  and  his  wife  wept  upon  his 
breast  until  he  had  to  caution  her  that  she  would  not 
be  able  to  meet  their  guests.  Her  tears  were  not  of 
grief,  but  of  joy;  the  fountain  of  thankfulness  had 
broken  in  her  heart  and  was  washing  away  her  long- 
pent  agony.  She  felt  as  though  she  could  not  meet 
Sister  Elizabeth  and  Elder  Bean  again.  Their  very 
presence  was  hateful  to  her,  the  air  seemed  poisoned 
by  them ;  but  her  husband  told  her  that  their  only 
hope  lay  in  entire  self-possession  and  apparent  acqui 
escence  in  every  command. 

"  Walls  sometimes  have  ears,"  said  Elder  Bean  to 
Sister  Elizabeth,  late  in  the  evening,  after  he  had 
prayed  that  the  family  with  which  they  sojourned 
might  long  be  preserved  to  labor  in  the  vineyard  of 
the  Lord  according  to  the  counsel  of  the  Prophet. 
"We  will  sit  in  the  open  air  for  a  time,  Elizabeth, 
and  advise  with  each  other.  I  have  some  things  to 
say,  and  some  news  that  concerns  you." 

"News  that  concerns  me?"  queried  Elizabeth, 
when  they  had  carried  their  chairs  to  an  open  space 
in  the  yard.  "Everything  connected  with  the  ad- 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  gl 

vancement  of  the  revealed  religion  concerns  me, 
Brother  Bean,  but  I  have  no  friends  here  except 
friends  in  the  Lord,  and  news  of  anything  outside 
the  work  we  have  been  sent  to  do  can  have  little  in 
terest  for  me." 

"  Oh,  we'll  see.  This  young  man,  this  sick  per 
son"— 

"I  supposed  it  had  to  do  with  him." 

"  He  is  delirious,"  continued  the  Elder,  paying  no 
heed  to  her  interruption,  "and  he  talks  in  his  de 
lirium  of  one  Esther.  Could  it  be  Esther  Wain- 
wright,  do  you  think?" 

"  Certainly  not.  Esther  has  no  acquaintances,  she 
was  a  child  when  she  left  her  old  home.  It  is  not 
probable  that  such  a  girl  would  have  more  than  one 
youthful  admirer  who  would  care  to  follow  her  out 
here.  She  has  known  young  Brother  Barbold  from 
her  infancy,  and  she  is  flattered  by  his  attentions,  I 
can  see  it  constantly;  she  will  marry  him,  of  course." 

As  if  that  settled  it,  Elizabeth  gave  her  head  a 
slight  upward  inclination,  and  turned  toward  the 
elder  as  if  she  would  have  him  proceed  to  more  im 
portant  business. 

"But  he  talks  of  Salt  Lake  City,  and  makes  plans 
for  getting  her  away  from  her  old  father;  he  fears  she 
will  not  consent  to  leave  him.  He  does  not  care  for 
the  rest  of  the  "  crew,"  as  he  calls  them,  whoever 
they  may  be.  He  is  too  sick  and  too  crazy  to  put 
things  very  straight,  but  I  gather  that  he  is  on  his 
way  to  Salt  Lake  City  now,  or  rather  that  he  was 


82  ESTHER    THE  GENTILE. 

when  he  was  waylaid  by  the  Indians.  They  came 
near  making  a  finish  of  him." 

Elder  Bean  ceased  speaking  and  looked  thought 
fully  at  the  ground.  But  Elizabeth  looked  disturbed 
and  asked  if  that  was  all  he  knew. 

"  That  is  all  I  have  learned  from  the  young  man 
himself,  but  from  this  I  have  learned  something 
more." 

And  here  the  Elder  produced  from  an  inner  pocket 
a  crumpled  envelope  which  he  handed  to  Elizabeth. 
It  bore  this  superscription : 


EZEKIEL   BLOUNCE, 

FOR   MISS   ESTHER  WAINWRIGHT, 

SALT  LAKE  CITY,  UTAH. 


"  Oh,  it  is  empty,"  said  he,  significantly,  as  Eliza 
beth  scanned  it  and  hurriedly  looked  inside,  "  but  it 
tells  enough.  This  young  man  is  a  Gentile,  a  lover 
of  Esther  "Wainwright's,  and  is  going  to  Salt  Lake 
City  for  her,  if  he  gets  well  enough.  I  think  the 
Lord  has  sent  him  to  take  her  off  your  hands,  Sister 
Elizabeth;  she  will  always  be  a  troublesome  minx  in 
the  Church,  make  the  best  of  her.  If  you  are  wise, 
sister,  I  say  you  will  let  him  go  and  lay  no  hindrances 
in  his  way.  Let  him  take  her,  and  good  riddance." 

That  Elder  Bean  had  not  felt  quite  sure  of  his  log 
ical  footing,  was  evidenced  by  the  fact  that  he  did 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  83 

not  look  Sister  Elizabeth  in  the  eye.  He  was  trying 
an  experiment,  and  he  feigned  to  be  abstracted  while 
he  gave  her  an  opportunity  to  make  up  her  mind  as 
to  what  course  she  would  pursue.  He  knew  better 
than  to  argue  a  point  of  conscience-policy  with  her, 
but  he  took  care  to  advance  what  he  considered  would 
be  the  strongest  argument  with  her  for  permitting 
Esther  to  go  out  of  the  way. 

"It  was  foreordained  that  that  young  woman 
should  be  brought  into  the  fold.  Elder  Bean,  I  feel 
this  in  my  heart,  and  if  I  was  not  so  unworthy  to  be 
so  singled  out  and  blessed,  I  should  believe  it  had 
been  revealed  to  me  that  I  am  to  labor  for  her  con 
version  until  she  is  safe  within  the  fold." 

If  it  passed  through  the  elder's  mind  that  perhaps 
Sister  Elizabeth's  desire  to  be  revenged  upon  Esther 
for  her  obstinacy,  was  greater  than  her  desire  to  see 
her  converted,  he  gave  no  sign  of  it.  They  never 
took  off  the  mask  of  holiness  before  each  other. 

"No,  Elder  Bean,  I  cannot  give  up  the  girl;  Provi 
dence  has  put  her  in  my  care,  and  I  feel  it  to  be  my 
duty  to  save  her.  She  will  yet  repent,  you  may 
trust  me  for  that.  I  will  live  to  see  her  a  dutiful 
wife  in  a  loyal  household." 

Elizabeth  would  have  continued  indefinitely,  it 
seemed,  upon  a  theme  which  had  evidently  been 
much  in  her  thoughts,  but  the  elder  broke  the  cur 
rent  of  her  reflections  by  asking  her  what  she  would 
do  with  the  young  man. 

"He  is  very  sick,  you  say,"  she  answered;  "per- 


84  ESTHER    THE  GENTILE. 

haps  it  is  the  Lord's  will  that  he  may  not  recover; 
we  will  wait  and  see." 

"I  must  go  to  him;  these  good  people  are  weary 
watching  him,  and  it  is  not  becoming  in  us  that  a 
stranger  should  suffer  and  receive  no  help  from  us. 
You  can  retire  early  and  rest  from  your  journey, 
Sister  Elizabeth,  and  I  will  watch  the  stranger  to 
night," 

"Could  I  not  see  him  too?  I  might  be  able  to 
suggest  something  for  his  relief?  Is  there  a  phy 
sician  in  the  place  ?  " 

"  0,  yes,  there  is  a  doctor  here,  and  you  can  see 
him  also.  Between  the  two  he  is  sure  to  be  either 
killed  or  cured,"  said  the  elder;  but  Elizabeth,  who 
so  rarely  smiled  at  anything,  was  in  no  mood  for 
poor  jokes,  and  she  went  grimly  behind  the  elder  to 
the  door  of  the  sick  man's  room.  Within,  they 
found  both  their  host  and  hostess,  who  stood  watch 
ing  the  sick  man,  bathing  his  burning  head  and  lis 
tening  to  his  incoherent  mutterings.  When  Elder 
Bean  announced  that  he  would  take  care  of  their 
patient  during  the  night  the  woman  protested  vigor 
ously  that  she  was  quite  able  to  do  it,  and  said  she 
could  not  think  of  having  her  guests  deprived  of  their 
rest.  Her  husband  knew  that  after  the  excitement 
of  the  day  she  needed  sleep,  and  he  knew,  too,  from 
the  elder's  manner,  that  they  had  better  comply  with 
his  suggestion,  but  when  he  spoke  of  his  wife's  fa 
tigue  she  looked  up  at  him  in  surprise.  Elder  Bean 
spoke  up  then  and  said  that  Sister  Elizabeth  would 
retire  immediately  and  that  they  should  do  likewise, 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILi:.  85 


he  would  stay  with  the  sick  man.  Elizabeth  obeyed 
dutifully,  bidding  them  all  a  grave  good  night,  and 
after  she  was  gone  the  wife  arranged  things  for  the 
watcher's  convenience  and  went  too. 

"  I  could  not  have  left  her  there,"  she  said  to  her 
husband  when  they  were  alone,  "she  looks  so  cold 
and  cruel  I  believe  she  would  kill  him  if  he  did  not 
say  he  would  be  a  Mormon  when  he  gets  well." 

"Hush!  it  is  not  safe  even  to  whisper  such  thoughts; 
you  little  know,  dear  wife,  the  dangerous  ground  we 
are  treading  on.  But  while  we  are  alone  I  must  tell 
you  one  thing  which  will  help  to  put  you  on  your 
guard  for  to-morrow;  Elder  Bean  and  Sister  Elizabeth 
know  something  of  this  sick  man.  Whether  they 
learned  some  secret  of  him  this  afternoon,  or  whether 
they  have  known  him  before,  I  cannot  tell;  but  they 
have  some  secret  interest  in  him  since  the  Elder  saw 
him,  and  they  know  something  about  him.  Have 
you  heard  him  talk  of  anything  mysterious?" 

"Nothing  at  all,  but  I  have  not  been  thinking  of 
that,  I  knew  the  poor  fellow  was  delirious  and  did 
not  think  his  ravings  of  any  consequence.  I  remem 
ber  he  called  on  some  one  to  wait,  and  be  patient, 
that  is  all  I  remember  that  meant  anything." 

"  Well,  be  careful;  do  not  appear  to  watch  them; 
be  as  natural  as  possible,  and,  as  we  value  our  free 
dom,  let  us  see  our  guests  off  without  arousing  their 
suspicion." 

Whatever  may  have  been  Elder  Bean's  motive  — 
and  he  may  as  well  have  the  benefit  of  the  supposi 
tion  that  it  was  a  good  one,  since  we  know  of  no 


86  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

other — lie  worked  hard  to  save  Mark  Branch,  the 
young  surveyor,  for  of  course  it  was  he  whom  the 
missionaries  had  found,  and  before  morning  there 
did  come  a  little  more  restfulness,  and  a  decrease  of 
the  terrible  fever.  It  was  not  until  about  the  same 
hour  that  Elizabeth's  eyes  closed  in  the  fitful  slumber 
of  an  overwrought  mind,  and  her  compressed  lips  re 
laxed  like  a  weary  laborer's  who  has  laid  down  his 
burden  for  a  brief  respite.  But  with  the  first  sounds 
of  morning  in  the  little  village,  she  was  awake  and 
eager  for  some  plan  of  active  operations.  In  her  im 
patience  to  know  whether  the  young  man  was  better, 
and  his  recovery  probable,  or  whether  he  was  dan 
gerously  worse  and  still  unconscious,  her  usual  equa 
nimity  failed  her;  and  she  pushed  her  breakfast  from 
her,  plainly  unable  to  touch  it,  when  Elder  Bean  said, 
in  answer  to  her  questions,  that  it  was  impossible  that 
there  should  be  much  change  in  so  sick  a  man  in  one 
short  night,  but  that  what  change  there  was,  was  gain. 

"It  may  not  be  permanent,"  he  said,  when  the  brief 
meal  was  ended  and  he  and  Elizabeth  had  gone  out 
for  an  interview,  "but  since  we  have  checked  the 
fever,  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  he'd  out-last  it  and 
live  to  make  you  a  son-in-law  yet. 

The  day  passed  in  anxious  watch  of  the  Gentile, 
and  as  hour  after  hour  went  by  Elizabeth  showed 
more  and  more  her  unusual  perturbation  of  spirit. 
She  would  announce  suddenly,  with  great  earnest 
ness,  that  she  must  go  home  immediately;  she  knew 
she  was  needed  there,  and  she  felt  it  be  her  duty  to 
go.  Elder  Bean  would  advise  her  to  start  forthwith, 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  87 

and  leave  him  to  finish  the  tour  alone.  Then  she 
would  say  that  the  Lord  had  appointed  her  to  fulfill 
this  mission,  and  she  would  not  abandon  it.  So  long 
as  their  patient  was  in  such  a  precarious  condition  the 
elder  felt  sure  that  Elizabeth  would  not  desert  him; 
but  the  exhibition  of  such  variable  moods  and  such 
sudden  changes  of  the  mind  were  so  rare,  indeed  so 
unheard  of,  in  Elizabeth's  history,  that  even  Elder 
Bean  could  not  wholly  comprehend  them.  It  seemed 
to  excite  her  to  uncontrollable  nervousness  to  talk  of 
the  young  man,  yet  she  was  constantly  inquiring  as 
to  his  condition,  and  insisted  upon  seeing  him  fre 
quently.  He  gained  steadily  all  day,  and  at  night 
fall  sank  into  a  deep,  quiet  sleep.  Elder  Bean  sat  a 
long  time  by  his  side  watching  him  patiently,  and 
was  just  about  to  lie  down  and  take  a  little  rest  him 
self,  trusting  that  his  charge  would  sleep  on,  when 
the  door  opened  and  Elizabeth  stepped  noiselessly 
into  the  room.  She  had  evidently  tried  in  vain  to 
sleep,  and  had  sought  the  sick  room  because  she 
could  not  remain  longer  alone  with  her  own  thoughts. 
She  moved  toward  the  bed,  and  the  elder  said  to  her 
in  a  low  tone,  "You  see  he  sleeps  quite  naturally; 
he  will  soon  be  all  right."  Faint  as  the  sound  was 
it  reached  the  sleeper,  and  he  slowly  opened  his  eyes 
on  Elizabeth.  They  gazed  at  each  other  an  instant 
and  then  the  sick  man  cast  his  eyes  downward  to 
wards  her  feet  as  if  taking  in  her  whole  personality. 
He  did  not  move  or  speak,  but  Elizabeth  felt  that 
he  had  seen  her  with  his  true  vision.  He  closed  his 
eyes  again  and  made  no  further  sign,  and  Elder  Bean, 


88  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

who  had  chanced  to  turn  away,  did  not  see  even  this. 
Elizabeth  lingered  but  a  moment  and  passed  out  as 
noiselessly  as  she  came.  In  the  morning  the  patient 
was  pronounced  much  better  by  all  the  household 
except  Elizabeth;  she  did  not  seem  anxious  to  see 
him,  but  said  with  the  others  that  she  was  glad  he 
was  out  of  danger. 

There  are  men,  particularly  young  men,  who  have 
lived  an  active  out-door  life,  who  have  the  power  to 
rally  from  an  acute  attack  of  sickness  in  an  incredibly 
short  space  of  time,  and  toward  the  evening  of  the 
next  day,  when  Mark  Branch  insisted  upon  getting 
up,  everybody  was  amazed,  but  he  said  he  had  not 
really  been  sick;  he  was  merely  exhausted  by  fatigue 
and  loss  of  blood,  and  now  that  he  was  rested  and 
refreshed  by  their  care,  he  was  all  right  again.  See 
ing  his  determination,  his  host  and  the  elder  shared 
their  not  too  plenteous  wardrobes  with  him,  and  be 
tween  them  made  him  presentable.  Not  to  Elizabeth, 
however ;  she  kept  her  room  with  a  nervous  headache, 
and  the  little  party  took  supper  without  ner.  The  con 
gratulations  that  were  extended  to  Mark  so  heartily  by 
all,  made  the  event  quite  a  pleasant  one.  The  little 
woman  who  had  for  the  last  two  or  three  days  trem 
bled  between  hope  and  fear  for  her  husband's  safety, 
almost  forgot  her  anxiety,  and  even  her  suspicion  of 
Elder  Bean,  in  her  gratitude  to  him. 

The  stranger's  thanks  were  as  genuine  as  their 
hospitality,  and  when  they  bade  him  good-night,  the 
entire  household  looked  upon  him  as  an  old  friend. 
The  elder  even  suggested  that  perhaps  they  might 


ESTHER    THE  GENTILE.  89 

make  some  arrangements  for  journeying  together,  if 
he  were  going  towards  the  States. 

"Shouldn't  wonder  if  we  might,"  answered  Mark 
brightly,  as  if  it  were  a  happy  thought. 

In  the  morning,  the  host,  who  tapped  early  at  his 
door,  received  no  answer.  He  hesitated  a  moment, 
thinking  the  convalescent  yet  asleep,  and  was  about 
to  turn  away  and  leave  him  undisturbed,  when  Eliza 
beth  appeared. 

"  The  fever !  it  may  have  returned ! "  she  said  ex 
citedly  ;  and  at  this  suggestion  they  hurriedly  opened 
the  door. 

The  room  was  empty.  The  bed  had  not  been  oc 
cupied.  Their  patient  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  X. 


MR.  WAINWRIGHT  failed  in  strength  per 
ceptibly  as  the  autumn  passed  away.  When 
winter  set  in,  the  cold  of  even  the  mild  climate  of 
Salt  Lake  seemed  to  chill  him  through.  He  lingered 
long  about  the  little  fire  at  home,  and  went  out  into 
the  crisp  frosty  air  as  if  it  were  a  biting  and  bitter 
wind.  Esther  often  stood  and  looked  after  him,  and 
sometimes  followed  him,  to  assure  herself  that  he 
would  reach  the  church  safely;  he  seemed  so  frail 
and  feeble,  she  feared  he  might  fall  by  the  way.  But 
day  after  day  he  came  and  went,  almost  as  if  he 
neither  saw  nor  heard.  It  was  a  silent  agony,  that 
reacted  upon  Esther's  sensitive  nature. cruelly;  she 
was  wasting  under  it,  too.  And,  besides  this  great 
sorrow,  she  had  to  bear  the  annoyance  of  young  Bar- 
hold's  attentions.  His  visits  were  quite  as  frequent, 
and  his  manner  quite  as  assured,  as  before  her  refusal 
to  marry  him.  There  seemed  to  be  no  way  by  which 
she  could  evade  or  repel  him,  and  she  could  only 
bear  his  presence  and  suffer  in  silence.  She  had  no 
protector,  and  no  friend  to  advise  her  how  to  protect 
herself,  but  her  womanly  instincts  had  been  devel 
oped  so  rapidly  during  her  life  among  the  Latter  Day 
Saints  that  she  did  not  often  feel  afraid  for  herself. 
She  felt  sure  she  had  strength  enough  to  resist  any 
power  that  would  try  to  force  her  into  a  marriage 

(90) 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  91 

with  Barbold,  and  she  was  happily  ignorant  of  the 
other  methods  of  punishment  for  disobedient  daugh 
ters  under  the  counsel  of  the  Prophet;  but  she 
dreaded  constantly  the  conflict  she  knew  must  come 
when  Elizabeth  returned.  Young  Barbold  had  as 
much  as  told  her  that  Elizabeth  had  not  only  ap 
proved  the  marriage,  but  she  had  said  it  was  greatly 
to  be  desired,  and  must  be  consummated  for  Esther's 
good.  Many  a  time  Esther  planned  her  methods  for 
defense  and  resistance,  but  she  always  discovered  a 
weak  point,  and  ended  by  trying  to  shut  out  of  her 
mind  all  that  was  before  her. 

One  day  when  she  was  more  than  usually  troubled 
about  her  father's  feebleness,  Tom  Barbold  walked 
in  and  seated  himself  familiarly  by  her  side.  Eliza 
beth's  daughter  was  with  her,  seated  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  room,  and  just  as  the  young  gentleman 
sat  down,  Esther  looked  up  at  Drusilla.  The  con 
stant  watch  she  had  recently  exercised  over  these 
young  people  had  added  another  embarrassment  to 
Tom  Barbold's  visits,  and  Esther  glanced  at  her  in 
voluntarily,  as  she  had  done  many  times  before,  while 
her  fair  face  flushed  with  shame;  but  she  saw  some 
thing  this  time  she  had  never  seen  before,  or,  having 
seen,  she  had  never  understood.  Drusilla's  cheeks 
were  aflame,  and  the  expression  of  her  face  as  she 
looked  at  Esther  told  as  plainly  as  words  could  that 
she  was  jealous.  The  revelation  came  to  Esther  in 
stantly  when  she  saw  those  flashing  eyes.  Her  first' 
impulse  was  to  speak.  Her  father's  wife  jealous  of 
another  man's  attention  to  her,  his  daughter!  It 


92  'ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

seemed  monstrous !  But  some  better  impulse  checked 
her,  and  instead  of  breaking  out  in  a  tirade  of  hot 
words,  as  she  was  tempted  to,  she  rushed  from  the 
room  and  left  Drusilla  and  Barbold  alone.  When 
she  reached  her  own  room  she  could  not  be  thankful 
enough  that  she  had  held  her  peace.  She  had  no 
respect  for  the  mock-marriage  between  her  father 
and  Drusilla;  why  should  she  expect  any  one  else  to 
have,  she  queried,  even  Drusilla,  the  plural  wife; 
she  was  as  young  and  ignorant  as  herself,  and  had 
always  been  under  the  complete  control  of  Elizabeth. 

When  Esther  was  gone,  Barbold  looked  after  her 
a  moment  in  astonishment  and  then  said:  "Well, 
what  does  the  girl  mean  ?  " 

"0,  she  is  so  queer,  you  never  know  what  she  will 
do  next,"  said  Drusilla,  quickly.  And  then  Barbold 
looked  at  her,  and,  seeing  her  bright  cheeks,  was 
tempted  to  ask  a  question  that  had  been  in  his  mind 
many  times,  though  he  had  never  taken  much  notice 
of  Drusilla.  "  She  belongs  to  the  old  man,"  he  would 
always  think  when  he  saw  her,  and  then  forget  her 
again.  This  time  she  looked  unusually  pretty,  and 
he  would  ask  her  while  Esther  was  gone;  he  would 
not  have  thought  of  doing  it  while  in  her  presence. 

"How  did  you  happen  to  marry  the  old  man,  any 
how?"  he  said  then,  looking  at  her  admiringly  to 
palliate  his  offense. 

The  only  sign  she  gave  of  having  heard  was  to 
'grow  redder  in  the  face,  and  seeing  her  hesitate,  he 
added:  "Does  the  Church  fix  such  affairs  to  suit  it 
self?  it  was  not  from  choice  wholly,  I  suppose?" 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  93 

"I  never  thought  anything  about  it,"  said  the  girl, 
with  her  head  still  bowed  down. 

A  confused  sense  of  his  new  professions  prevented 
Barbold  from  continuing  this  conversation,  but  he 
saw  Drusilla  as  he  had  never  seen  her  before,  and 
perhaps  had  a  suspicion  of  the  same  thing  that  Esther 
had  discovered,  for  such  a  specimen  of  mankind  is" 
never  slow  to  conclude  that  a  woman  loves  him.  He 
watched  Drusilla  a  moment  longer,  while  a  compla 
cent  smile  spread  over  his  face,  and  then  he  remem 
bered  Esther,  and  wished  she  were  a  little  more  like 
this  obedient  daughter,  and  yet  he  coveted  her  the 
more  for  her  willfulness.  He  went  away  half  vexed 
and  half  troubled  because  she  did  not  return  after 
her  sudden  departure  from  the  room. 

Esther  was  the  first  real  obstacle  to  his  plans  he 
had  ever  encountered,  and  even  his  dull  vision  was 
beginning  to  see  that  to  win  her  for  his  wife  was  not 
merely  a  matter  of  words.  Each  day  he  became  more 
impatient  for  the  return  of  his  ally,  Elizabeth,  for  he 
could  see  that  he  was  losing  ground.  And  day  by 
day  he  found  himself  oftener  with  Drusilla.  There 
seemed  to  be  no  prearrangement  to  bring  these  meet 
ings  about,  and  yet  he  knew  there  must  be.  He  never 
accused  Esther  of  it,  however,  and  to  the  greatest 
dullard  her  sweet  tell-tale  face  showed  the  struggle  be 
tween  respect  to  her  father  and  the  temptation  to  free 
herself  from  Barbold's  attentions  by  aiding  another 
woman  to  win  what  poor  love  he  had  to  give.  That 
he  was  flattered  by  Drusilla's  increasing  admiration 
no  one  could  fail  to  see,  and  Esther  realized  it  even 

7 


94  ESTHER    THE  GENTILE. 

more  than  he  did  himself.  The  subject  was  never 
referred  to  between  the  two  young  women,  but  they 
understood  each  other. 

Every  night  Esther  prayed  again,  "  How  long,  0 
Lord,  how  long?"  and  every  day  Drusilla's  cheeks 
grew  redder  and  her  eyes  brighter.  She  was  drink 
ing  her  first  draught  of  nature.  This  young  man 
had  crossed  her  barren  pathway  like  a  magnificent 
vision;  she  looked,  and  was  charmed.  Mr.  Wain- 
wright  was  nothing  to  her,  and  had  never  been  a  fac 
tor  in  her  life;  she  had  not  only  not  been  taught,  but 
she  had  never  been  permitted  to  cultivate  an  individ 
ual  conscience,  and  up  to  this  time  had  merely  been 
a  weak  instrument.  Now  the  conquering  hero  had 
come,  and  the  one  pure  fountain  in  a  woman's  heart 
that  ever  gives  her  full  strength  had  been  touched, 
and  under  its  influence  she  would  yet  become  either 
angel  or  fiend. 


CHAPTER  XL 


LIZABETH  reached  home  at  the  close  of  a 
bleak  winter  day.  Brasilia  met  her  at  the  door, 
but  although  she  was  the  only  member  of  the  house 
hold  who  was  of  her  own  flesh  and  blood,  she  was 
not  the  member  whom  Elizabeth  was  most  impatient 
to  see.  She  had  made  the  long,  tiresome,  hurried 
journey  from  the  remote  frontier  Mormon  settlements 
back  to  Salt  Lake  City,  with  one  burning  desire  in 
her  heart,  to  reach  Esther  before  Mark  did,  and  to 
conquer  her.  She  could  but  greet  her  daughter,  how 
ever,  and  having  eyes,  she  could  not  fail  to  see  that 
Drusilla  was  changed.  She  had  left  her  a  plain,  un- 
noticeable  girl,  she  found  her  almost  a  beautiful 
young  woman.  Some  throb  of  human  feeling  had 
set  a  light  in  her  face  that  Elizabeth  had  never  seen 
there  before.  She  could  not  analyze  it  at  the  instant, 
but  she  had  seen  a  great  many  faces,  it  had  been  a 
part  of  her  business  to  learn  to  take  them  at  the  su 
preme  moment  of  triumph  or  weakness,  as  best 
suited  her  purpose.  So  she  knew  it  was  not  the  de 
velopment  of  mere  physical  beauty  she  saw,  and  she 
realized  that  before  her,  in  her  own  child,  stood  a 
new  force,  either  with  her  or  against  her.  Elizabeth's 
own  thin  face  was  blue  with  cold,  and  she  shivered 
her  way  into  the  little  sitting  room,  a  painful  contrast 
to  the  rosy  and  healthful  creature  at  her  side.  Some- 
OS) 


96  ESTHER    THE  GENTILE. 

thing  of  her  old  fire  and  energy  were  gone,  but  she 
took  her  place  at  the  head  of  affairs  and  people,  and 
struggled  bravely  not  to  let  it  be  known  that  she  had 
any  new  care.  The  especially  hard  thing  she  had  to 
do  was  not  to  let  it  be  known  that  she  was  looking 
for  any  one.  Every  day  she  expected  Mark  to  ap 
pear,  and  her  mind  was  so  fastened  upon  consummat 
ing  the  marriage  of  Esther  to  young  Barbold  before 
he  came,  that  she  was  slow  to  perceive  the  situation 
she  had  to  deal  with.  She  held  a  consultation  with 
Barbold,  and  promised  to  assist  him  in  his  suit;  the 
girl's  real  wishes  troubled  neither  of  them ;  to  win 
her  was  the  object  they  plotted  for,  not  to  woo  her. 
The  subject  could  not  be  hinted  at  and  gain  any  head 
way  with  Esther;  it  was  so  hateful  to  her,  and  she 
held  herself  so  much  aloof  from  all  the  family,  that 
it  was  only  by  a  bold  statement  of  exactly  what  she 
meant  that  Elizabeth  was  able  to  approach  her. 

"And  you  expect  me  to  do  your  bidding!"  Esther 
had  risen  and  said.  "Me,  whose  father's  life  you 
ha.'e  blighted,  almost  destroyed!  You  expect  me  to 
marry  as  your  daughter  has  done,  because  you  say  I 
must,  and  repent  as  she  has  done,  when  it  is  too  late ! 
I  have  borne  almost  all  I  can,  but  your  cruelest 
threats  cannot  drive  me  to  this.  Even  to  marry  a 
man  I  could  love  would  not  tempt  me  from  my 
father;  where  he  stays,  I  will  stay;  he  has  no  one 
left  but  me,  and  I  have  none  but  him ;  nothing  shall 
part  us." 

Esther  spoke  with  a  vehemence  which  showed  that 
she  believed  she  had  divined  the  reason  why  Eliza- 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  97 

beth  wished  to  see  her  married  to  Barbold;  she  did  not 
suspect  the  woman  of  a  thirst  to  be  revenged  for  the 
sake  of  the  Church.  When  she  had  dropped  into  a 
chair,  white  and  trembling,  Elizabeth  turned  upon 
her  with  the  announcement  that  the  duty  of  the 
Church  toward  the  children  of  its  members  must  be 
done,  and  that  as  Esther  knew  little  of  its  laws,  it 
would  be  wise  for  her  to  beware  what  statements  she 
made,  and  to  listen  to  her  proper  advisers. 

"  The  only  proper  adviser  I  have  has  been  turned 
against  me  by  you,  and  now,  though  I  am  alone  and 
helpless,  I  will  not  be  driven  into  the  toils  of  the 
Mormon  church;  I  can  die  of  grief  and  fright,  but 
I  will  not  give  myself  to  that  man,  nor  to  a  Mormon 
elder.  I  am  not  the  child  I  was  when  my  father 
brought  me  here ;  I  have  been  forced  to  see  and  to 
understand  that  there  is  nothing  sacred  where  the 
Mormon  religion  reigns.  From  this  time  on  the 
proposition  of  my  marriage  to  a  Mormon,  whoever 
he  may  be,  need  not  be  repeated,  I  will  not  listen  to 
it."  And  then  in  her  excitement  she  hurried  from 
the  room.  As  soon  as  she  was  alone  she  found  she 
was  shaking  with  excitement,  and  could  not  quiet 
herself.  Tears  rained  from  her  eyes  one  minute,  and 
the  next  the  necessity  for  some  plan  of  action  would 
force  them  back,  and  she  would  stare  into  vacancy 
with  a  wild  determination  to  discover  some  way  of 
escape,  but  in  every  direction  only  an  impregnable 
wall  surrounded  her.  She  could  refuse  to  be  "  sealed  " 
to  a  Mormon,  but  that  was  all  she  could  do.  Even 
if  she  would  consent  to  leave  her  father,  there  was 


98  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

no  place  she  could  go.  Fort  Douglas  was  difficult  to 
reach,  even  by  fugitives  who  had  strong,  determined 
men  to  guide  them.  What  could  one  frightened  girl 
do,  alone  among  enemies  ? 

The  afternoon  wore  away,  the  hour  for  their  frugal 
supper  passed,  and  still  Esther  struggled  alone.  She 
could  hear  Elizabeth  and  Drusilla  moving  quietly 
about  the  house  at  times,  but  she  did  not  hear  her  fa 
ther  come  home  as  usual,  and  Tom  Barbold  did  not 
come  as  he  was  accustomed  to.  She  heard  no  conver 
sation  between  the  women,  and  at  last  all  was  perfectly 
quiet  in  the  little  house,  not  a  sound  but  her  own  spas 
modic  sobs  could  be  heard,  until  at  bed  time  Mr. 
Wainwright  came  softly  through  the  front  door. 
Esther  had  begun  to  fear  that  he  would  not  come  at 
all,  and  horrible  imaginings  made  her  tremble  with 
a  fear  greater  than  had  ever  possessed  her.  She 
knew  that  her  father  was  as  powerless  as  herself,  and 
failing  to  drive  her  from  him,  she  suspected  they 
might  take  him  from  her.  In  her  joy  at  hearing  his 
footstep,  she  opened  her  door  to  run  to  him,  when 
his  hoarse  voice  startled  her,  saying,  "Is  it  over? 
Has  she  gone?"  in  a  half  whisper. 

"  No,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"Is  she  here?"  eagerly,  under  his  breath. 

"Yes,  and  it  is  time  we  were  all  abed,"  added  his 
wife  in  a  louder  tone.  Esther's  hurried  step  was 
stayed,  she  waited,  breathless,  with  her  hand  on  the 
door,  afraid  to  go  on.  She  could  not  trust  herself 
even  to  stand,  and  carefully  letting  go  her  hold,  she 
crouched  down  on  the  floor  and  waited.  An  awful 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  99 

fear  that  Elizabeth  would  appear  noiselessly  in  the 
doorway,  like  an  apparition,  and  accuse  her  of  listen 
ing,  made  her  cold,  but  still  she  dared  not  stir  to 
creep  back  to  bed.  After  a  long  time,  it  seemed  to 
her,  the  sound  of  the  quick  breath  of  two  uneasy 
sleepers  reached  her,  and  then  she  said  to  herself  she 
must  think,  and  think  fast.  The  summer  night  was 
short,  but  it  was  the  only  time  left  her  in  which  to 
try  and  save  herself.  All  the  horrible  stories  of  kid 
napping,  imprisonment,  and  punishment,  that  Dru- 
silla  had  told  her,  came  swarming  into  her  hot  brain, 
and  she  knew  that  she  must  fly.  Only  a  few  hours 
since,  she  had  said  defiantly  that  nothing  could  drive 
her  from  her  father;  now,  she  knew  that  she  must 
go,  alone,  in  the  night,  a  fugitive,  even  from  him. 
She  knew  that  her  father's  questions  meant  that  be 
fore  another  night  she  would  be  taken  out  of  his 
reach,  and  that  immediate  flight  was  her  only  hope 
of  freedom  from  Elizabeth  and  the  Mormons.  To 
fly  from  that  treacherous  refuge  into  the  dark 
streets  of  the  enemy,  was  a  hazardous  venture,  but 
it  must  be  made,  and  with  a  prayer  for  the  dear  old 
father  she  left  behind,  Esther  slipped  from  the  little 
low  window  of  her  room  and  ran  across  the  small 
door  yard  into  the  street. 

If  it  had  been  into  the  mountain  fastnesses  where 
wild  beasts  hid,  or  out  on  the  desert  plains,  where 
immigrant  Mormons  starved  and  died,  she  could 
have  been  brave,  but  here,  where  every  shadow  seemed 
a  lurking  human  fiend  for  her  destruction,  she  could 
not  decide  which  way  to  go.  For  a  block  she  ran 


100  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

along  under  the  trees  where  she  could  not  be  seen, 
nor  her  foot-falls  be  heard,  but  when  she  came  to  the 
open  street  she  could  not  summon  courage  to  cross 
it,  and  was  just  sinking  to  the  ground  with  the  in 
stinctive  feeling  that  she  was  less  liable  to  be  seen, 
while  she  looked  about  her,  when  a  night  patrol  of 
half  a  dozen  men  appeared  in  the  moonlight  a  little 
distance  down  the  street  to  her  left.  Tramp,  tramp, 
they  came  up  the  deserted  street  directly  towards  her; 
if  they  came  straight  on  they  must  pass  almost  over 
her,  for  she  was  crouched  at  the  very  edge  of  the 
footpath.  Her  heart  beat  louder  than  the  approaching 
steps.  It  drowned  them  completely,  her  brain  whirled 
round  and  round,  and  her  head  sank  to  the  ground. 
The  face  that  turned  its  sightless  eyes  toward 
heaven  might  have  been  dead,  for  aught  of  sound  or 
motion  that  betrayed  its  life. 


CHAPTER  XH. 


IT  suited  Elizabeth's  purpose  to  permit  her  husband 
to  think  that  she  had  been  instrumental  in  Es 
ther's  disappearance,  and  although  she  had  secret 
agents  out  searching  in  every  quarter  of  the  city,  she 
preserved  a  calm  demeanor  in  the  presence  of  her 
family,  and  even  talked  about  the  necessity  of  disci 
pline  for  youthful  and  rebellious  minds. 

It  required  but  a  short  time  for  Elizabeth  to  assure 
herself  with  comparative  certainty  that  her  lost  charge 
was  not  at  the  Fort.  The  emissaries  of  the  Church 
watched  all  the  avenues  of  approach  to  that  refuge 
so  closely  that  it  was  almost  impossible  for  a  fugitive 
to  reach  it  undiscovered,  and  if  one  did,  there  was 
always  some  one  there  who  would,  for  a  considera 
tion,  betray  the  presence  of  a  renegade  Mormon. 
Not  finding  Esther  there,  the  search  was  confined  to 
the  city.  She  knew  no  one  could  leave  its  limits  and 
go  long  undetected.  A  young,  unprotected  girl 
would  be  arrested  by  the  first  farmer  of  whom  she 
asked  food  or  shelter,  and  sent  back  for  the  Proph 
et's  counsel  concerning  what  should  be  done  with 
her.  Elizabeth  knew  this  and  waited  through  the 
first  day,  secure  in  her  belief  that  Esther  had  fled  to 
the  open  country,  and  that  she  would  soon  be  brought 
back  to  her  lawful  protectors. 

Every  Mormon  is  two  things,  whatever  else  he  may, 
(101) 


102  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

or  may  not,  be;  he  is  a  private  detective  for  the  head 
of  the  Church,  and  a  public  immigration  agent  for 
the  Territory.  By  some  of  the  many  eyes  always  on 
the  alert  to  do  Brigham  Young's  bidding,  Esther 
would  be  seen  and  brought  back  to  him,  and  thence 
to  Elizabeth.  She  did  not  doubt.  It  did  not  depend 
upon  the  feelings,  or  the  pleasure,  of  any  one  Esther 
might  appeal  to;  no  one  would  dare  to  aid  her.  But 
the  second  day  dawned  and  passed,  slowly,  for  no 
tidings  came.  Towards  night  Elizabeth  became  ner 
vous  and  watchful,  and  her  daughter  asked  her, 
abruptly,  if  she  was  sorry  for  the  girl.  The  ques 
tion  caused  such  a  look  of  surprise  that  it  brought  a 
revelation  to  Drusilla,  and  she  exclaimed,  "Oh!  she 
has  run  away,  has  she ! " 

"Hush,  don't  speak  of  it;  she  will  be  back  during 
the  day,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"The  day  is  almost  gone  now,"  rejoined  the  young 
woman,  "  and  if  Esther  has  gone  to  the  Fort  she'll 
not  be  back  at  all,  you  may  depend  upon  that.  Let 
her  go,  I  say,  she  is  a  good  riddance." 

"  She  is  not  at  the  Fort,  and  wherever  she  is  she 
will  be  found.  It  is  my  duty  to  take  care  of  her,  and 
I  intend  to  do  it." 

"But,  mother!  mother!  if  you  do  find  her,  you 
will  not  insist  upon  having  her  married  to  Mr.  Bar- 
bold,  will  you?  Because — because — " 

"  Because  what,  my  child  ? "  said  Elizabeth  in  sur 
prise  at  this  abrupt  speech. 

"Because,  sometime,  may  be  —  " 

But  Brasilia's  stammering  tongue  could  not  frame 


ESTHER    THE   O ENTILE.  1Q3 

for  her  mother  the  thought  that  had  so  long  been  in 
her  own  mind.  Perhaps 'her  burning  face  revealed 
enough,  for  an  angry  cloud  overspread  Elizabeth's 
gray  face,  and  turned  it  black.  Then  Drusilla  buried 
her  face  in  her  hands  and  a  silence  fell  between 
the  mother  and  daughter.  It  seemed  a  long  time  to 
the  daughter,  during  which  she  was  sinking  lower 
and  lower  in  despair,  until  the  mother  broke  the 
hardening  air  with,  "What  is  the  meaning  of  this, 
Drusilla?" 

Even  the  sound  of  her  harsh  voice,  despite  the 
portentous  words,  gave  the  girl  courage  and  she 
looked  up  quickly. 

"I  don't  know,  mother;  I  didn't  mean  anything; 
I  don't  know  when  it  happened,  but  Mr.  Barbold 
thinks  more  of  me  than  he  does  of  Esther;  he  is 
glad  she  is  gone.  Oh!  let  her  go,  mother;  don't  try 
to  find  her,  Mr.  Barbold  will  not  care,"  and  an  ap 
pealing  voice  came  with  Drusilla's  words  that  Eliza 
beth  had  never  heard  before. 

A  practiced  and  un-anxious  eye  might  have  seen 
the  signs  of  relenting  even  under  Elizabeth's  hard 
mask.  If  she  could  forgive  her  daughter  for  having 
conceived  an  idea,  she  could  doubtless  forgive  the 
substance  of  that  idea.  Perhaps  it  impressed  her  as 
good,  and  she  fell  to  wondering  why  it  had  not  been 
born  in  her  own  fertile  brain.  "Whatever  she  thought, 
she  kept  her  thoughts  to  herself  for  a  long  time,  and 
then  said  with  a  manner  of  forced  calmness  and  de- 
liberateness,  "And  you,  Drusilla,  have  you  commit 
ted  the  indiscretion  of  being  drawn  towards  Brother 


104  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

Barbold?  You  who  are  already  sealed  to  another 
man?  To  be  sure  you  were  not  married  to  Mr. 
Wainwright  for  eternity — you  were  so  young.  But 
this  is  all  unexpected  to  me,  and  so  sudden."  The 
gray  woman  again  ceased  to  speak,  and  turned  her 
eyes  away  from  her  daughter.  That  she  was  revolv 
ing  the  new  idea  in  her  rnind  was  now  plain  to  Dru- 
silla,  and  her  heart  hounded  with  hope  because  her 
mother  expressed  no  decided  opposition.  For  sev 
eral  minutes  they  sat  silent,  the  eager  eyes  of  the 
daughter  watching  Elizabeth's  hard  face  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life  to  see  some  sign  of  softening.  Pres 
ently  Elizabeth  began  to  speak,  more  as  if  she  were 
thinking  aloud,  than  addressing  Brasilia: 

"If  he  fails  to  rise  in  the  Church  according  to  his 
opportunities,  it  may  be  better,  sometime,  to  select  a 
worthier  member  to  share  your  future.  I  will  con 
sider  it,  but  for  the  present  you  know  your  duty,  and 
I  am  the  best  judge  of  your  welfare." 

"Yes,  yes,  mother,  I  know,  but  is  there  no  help 
for  it  now  ?  " 

"No  help  for  what,  child?" 

"I  don't  love  Mr.  Wainwright,  and  he  doesn't  care 
anything  for  me,  and  I  don't  want  him  to,  and — 
0  dear!  I  don't  know  what  to  do." 

The  sentence  ended  in  sobs,  but  Elizabeth  com 
manded  quiet.  She  was  not  thinking  of  love,  she 
said.  "When  Drusilla  was  sealed  to  Mr.  "Wain 
wright,  there  were  other  considerations  which  a 
mother  might  have  for  a  daughter  that  were  of  far 
greater  importance. 


ESTHER    THE   O EN  TILE.  105 

What  they  might  be  Drusilla  could  not  then  imag 
ine,  and  she  soon  ceased  to  wonder  when  her  mother 
repeated  in  a  solemn,  but,  on  this  occasion,  to  Dru 
silla  a  very  comforting  tone,  that  she  would  consider 
the  matter  seriously,  and  take  counsel  on  the  sub 
ject,  and  if  it  was  found  that  her  child's  spiritual 
exaltation,  and  the  advancement  of  the  Church  de 
manded  it,  perhaps  they  could  make  a  different 
arrangement.  "But  Mr.  Barbold,"  she  remembered 
to  ask,  "has  he  expressed  himself  at  all  in  this  mat 
ter?" 

"  0,  yes,  he  is  willing;  he  is  indeed  glad  that  Esther 
has  gone,  and  he  never  wants  to  see  her  again." 

Drusilla  would  have  been  willing  to  confide  more 
of  her  own  thoughts  to  her  mother,  now  that  the  way 
seemed  open,  and  would  have  said  much  more  con 
cerning  young  Barbold,  but  she  was  dismissed  by  a 
decided  motion  of  the  already  preoccupied  woman's 
arm.  As  soon  as  the  door  closed  upon  her  daugh 
ter,  Elizabeth  rose  to  her  feet  and  began  to  pace  the 
little  room.  Its  confines  seemed  much  too  small  for 
her  expanding  mind.  She  bent  her  head  against  her 
hard  breast  as  she  walked,  and  locked  her  angular 
hands  together  in  a  hard  knot. 

"Yes,"  she  seemed  to  be  saying  to  herself,  "Es 
ther  has  doubtless  met  with  some  merited  punish 
ment  for  her  obstinacy;  why  should  I  concern  myself 
further  with  her?  Would  it  not  be  a  wise  thing  to 
make  some  other  use  of  Brother  Barbold?" 

Elizabeth's  soliloquy  was  a  long  one,  but  before  it 
was  broken  she  must  have  convinced  herself,  not 


106  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

only  that  it  was  wise,  but  that  it  was  her  duty,  to 
make  some  other  provision  for  young  Barbold's  ad 
vancement  than  marrying  him  to  Esther  Wainwright, 
for  within  a  few  days  thereafter  she  made  a  pro 
tracted  visit  to  the  Prophet,  and  returned  with  the 
advice  that  her  daughter  should  immediately  apply 
for  a  divorce  from  Mr.  Wainwright.  This  was  equiv 
alent  to  a  release  from  her  matrimonial  relation,  and 
made  Drusilla  inexpressibly  happy. 

It  has  been  thought  by  many  people  that  divorce 
was  not  granted  in  the  Mormon  church  under  any 
circumstances,  but  the  idea  was  doubtless  founded 
upon  the  supposition  that,  if  divorce  were  obtaina 
ble,  more  Mormon  wives  would  avail  themselves  of 
that  means  of  release  from  their  wretched  bondage. 
It  certainly  has  no  foundation  in  fact.  A  divorce  at 
that  time  could  be  obtained  only  upon  the  applica 
tion  of  the  wife.  A  Mormon  husband  could  not 
even  ask  for  a  divorce.  Now,  he  has  only  to  ask, 
and  pay  the  small  fee, — the  divorce  laws  being  no 
toriously  lax. 

In  the  decade  beginning  with  the  year  1850,  there 
was  a  period  which  cannot  be  exactly  measured,  but 
which  reached  its  culmination  about  1856  and  '57, 
that  is  known  among  the  Mormons  as  the  refor 
mation.  It  was  begun,  probably^  as  a  determined 
resistance  to  the  encroachments  of  the  mining  popu 
lation,  the  California  emigration  movement,  and  the 
progress  of  the  transcontinental  railways.  Brigham 
Young  hoped  that  his  efforts  to  prevent  the  settle 
ment  of  Gentiles  among  his  people,  and  the  vigorous 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  107 

prosecution  of  his  foreign  missionary  policy,  would  se 
cure  the  admission  of  Utah  as  the  State  of  Deseret  at 
no  distant  day,  and  every  device  of  his  unscrupulous 
mind  was  used  to  further  that  end.  Foremost  among 
these  means  was  the  encouragement  of  polygamy. 
Men  were  taught  from  the  pulpit,  by  the  Prophet 
himself,  that  with  God  they  would  reign  in  heaven, 
but  that  their  celestial  kingdoms  must  be  "built  up" 
by  themselves  while  upon  earth,  and  they  were  coun 
seled  to  plural  marriage  in  such  a  way  that  no  man 
dared  neglect  to  heed.  Old,  young  and  middle-aged, 
rich  and  poor,  strong  and  weak,  were  alike  compelled 
to  cast  about  and  find  themselves  new  mates. 

During  this  reign  of  terror,  marrying  was  one  of 
the  chief  employments  of  the  populace.  Some  men 
almost  abandoned  their  business,  and  traveled  miles 
in  search  of  a  wife,  fearing  they  might  not  find  one 
soon  enough  to  escape  the  anger  of  the  head  of  the 
Church.  Girls  as  young  as  fourteen  were  compelled 
to  marry  men  old  enough  to  be  their  grandfathers, 
and  during  this  period  plural  marriage  among  the 
Mormons  was  enforced  as  it  never  was  before  and 
never  has  been  since. 

As  a  result  of  these  hurried  and  indiscriminate 
marriages,  so  much  dissatisfaction  arose  that  the 
Church  was  obliged  to  provide  some  remedy,  and  it 
occurred  to  the  Prophet,  who  at  that  time  constituted 
the  church  government,  that  he  might  materially  in 
crease  his  revenues  by  granting  divorce  for  a  sum  that 
would  come  within  the  limited  means  of  many  of  his 
people.  So  it  was  "  revealed  "  that  for  the  sum  of  ten 


108  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

dollars  Brigham  Young  would  have  the  power  to 
"  unseal "  all  marriages  for  time.  The  bill  of  divorce 
would  be  worthless  for  eternity,  he  said,  as  the  vows 
that  had  been  taken  in  the  Endowment  House  would 
last  forever,  and  no  power,  not  even  his,  could  undo 
them.  All  the  Mormon  women  who  applied  for  di 
vorce  were  no  doubt  glad  to  accept  freedom  for  the 
remainder  of  their  miserable  lives  upon  earth,  and 
trust  to  chance  for  eternity.  But  there  are  many 
causes  that  prevent  a  woman  from  asking  for  a  di 
vorce  in  Utah,  as  well  as  many  causes  why  she  should 
desire  one,  that  do  not  obtain  in  other  places.  We 
have  now  to  deal  largely  with  a  generation  of  Mor 
mons  who  have  been  born  and  bred  in  the  Church, 
and  they  have  been  taught  from  infancy  that  a  rebel 
lious  woman  will  be  damned.  Having  no  part  in 
happiness  in  this  life,  Mormon  women  are  educated 
to  believe  that  their  reward  will  be  found  in  the  here 
after,  and  that  it  will  be  measured  according  to  their 
submission  to  their  husbands,  and  the  number  of  chil 
dren  they  bear.  A  Mormon  wife  is  expected  to  ask 
no  questions,  and  tell  no  tales.  It  is  not  strange,  then, 
that  women  whose  part  here  is  to  suffer  and  be  still, 
should  hesitate  to  relinquish  all  claims  to  joy  in  the 
world  to  come. 

While  the  Mormon  wife  has  had  the  privilege  for 
twenty-five  years  of  asking  for  a  divorce,  she  knows 
that  the  granting  of  her  petition  depends  wholly  up 
on  the  will  of  the  high  priest,  and  she  must  be  rea 
sonably  sure  of  his  willingness  to  grant  it,  before  she 
will  subject  herself  to  the  danger  of  a  reprimand 


ESTHER   THE   GENTILE.  109 

from  that  authority,  and  to  the  certainty  of  being 
counseled  to  return  to  her  home,  and  in  the  future 
to  be  more  obedient  and  humble  in  spirit. 

A  large  proportion  of  Mormon  women  among  the 
poorer  classes,  who  would  be  glad  to  avail  themselves 
of  divorce,  and  who  might  count  with  comparative 
certainty  upon  obtaining  it  on  the  plea  of  poverty, 
could  not  get  together  ten  dollars  in  money  without 
seeing  their  children  suffer  for  bread.  Greatest  of 
all  reasons  why  a  Mormon  woman  would  not,  a  few 
years  ago,  apply  for  divorce,  is  that  after  having  se 
cured  her  release,  she  had  no  place  to  go.  She  was 
then  a  "  vile  apostate,"  with  no  shelter,  and  no  means 
of  sustenance  for  either  herself  or  her  children.  She 
was  shunned  by  the  Mormons  and  suspected  by  the 
Gentiles,  or  if  any  pitied  her,  they  were  afraid  to  be 
friend  her  for  fear  of  the  "Avenging  Angels;"  in 
other  words,  of  the  vengeance  of  the  secret  police  of 
the  Church.  So  she  lived  on,  and  suffered  and  died 
a  "plural  wife,"  in  most  instances.  But  the  estab 
lishment  of  divorce  did,  of  course,  open  an  avenue  of 
escape  for  some,  and  a  convenient  subterfuge  for 
others. 

It  was  developed  ultimately  that  Elizabeth  had 
herself  taken  advantage  of  her  knowledge  of  the  di 
vorce  laws  of  the  Saints,  to  unite  her  daughter  to  Mr. 
"VVainwright  "  for  time,"  in  order  to  prevent  another 
elderly  brother  from  having  her  sealed  to  himself. 
She  learned  that  Brigham  Young  would  probably 
counsel  the  marriage,  and  took  that  means  to  fore 
stall  the  decree.  As  it  was  not  a  personal  matter 

8 


HO  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

with  the  Prophet  himself,  she  trusted  to  her  own  in 
fluence  to  have  the  marriage  with  Mr.  "Wainwright 
annulled  when  it  suited  her  ambition  to  see  Brasilia 
united  with  some  more  favored  elder  or  high  priest. 
Young  Brother  Barbold  she  considered  to  be  a  rising 
Saint,  and  if  Drusilla  loved  him,  it  is  but  reasonable 
to  suppose  that  even  her  stern  heart  contained  enough 
of  mother-love  to  cause  her  to  wish  to  see  them 
united,  after  the  idea  took  root  in  her  mind. 

Of  course  the  decree  was  granted  which  formally 
released  Mr.  "Wainwright's  young,  plural  wife,  and 
Drusilla  was  at  liberty  to  receive  openly  the  atten 
tions  she  had  long  been  secretly  encouraging  from 
Mr.  Barbold. 

For  a  nature  as  superficial  as  Tom  Barbold's,  the 
transfer  of  his  affections  from  Esther  to  Drusilla  was 
a  process  of  speedy  accomplishment.  Especially  as 
Esther  was  out  of  sight,  and  Drusilla  was  always  at 
home  when  he  was  present,  and  ever  ready  to  acqui 
esce  in  his  wishes.  She  was  growing  prettier,  too, 
each  day,  and  Barbold  wondered  more  and  more  that 
he  had  not  discovered  her  beauty  sooner.  He  did 
not  know  that  love  of  him  had  developed  it,  and  that 
each  time  he  appeared  to  her,  her  eye  sent  out  a  new 
beam  of  the  beauty  born  of  happiness.  It  is  but 
justice  to  him  to  say  that  he  soon  really  loved  her 
much  more  than  he  had  ever  loved  Esther;  Drusilla 
was  much  more  nearly  suited  to  his  taste,  as  well  as 
to  his  understanding,  and  they  soon  rejoiced  mutually 
in  Esther's  disappearance. 

Elizabeth,  too,  seemed  to  improve  in  spirit  under 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  HI 

the  new  arrangement  in  her  household  affairs.  The 
marriage  of  Barbold  and  her  daughter  she  looked 
upon  as  an  event  that  would  bring  her  increased 
honor  and  power  in  the  Church,  and  her  daughter  a 
loving  husband.  When  she  had  contemplated  his 
union  with  Esther,  she  had  expected,  besides  "  the 
performance  of  her  duty,"  merely  power  over  one 
helpless  girl.  The  effect  upon  her  mind  of  this 
change  in  its  policy  was  most  salutary,  and,  if  that 
had  been  possible,  would  no  doubt  have  softened  the 
hard  lines  of  her  face.  Of  the  household  only  Mr. 
Wainwright  now  remained  wholly  sad  and  cheerless. 
His  daughter  had  been  little  comfort  to  him  while  she 
remained  near  him,  but  now  that  she  was  gone  his 
feeble  mind  was  torn  with  terrible  fears.  He  asked 
but  few  questions;  he  had  enough  understanding  left 
to  know  that  inquiries  would  be  useless,  though  it  is 
in  the  Mormon  tenets  that  the  wife  shall  make  none. 
Elizabeth  was  an  exception  to  this  rule  by  virtue  of 
her  extreme  loyalty  to  the  Church,  and  the  well- 
known  fact  that  she  had  contracted  her  marriage 
with  Mr.  Wainwright  as  a  part  of  her  mission. 

That  poor  man  tottered  back  and  forth  to  the  Tab 
ernacle  as  regularly  as  ever,  but  sometimes  he  would 
forget  to  start  until  reminded  by  Elizabeth.  He 
would  sit  with  his  head  down,  dozing  in  his  easy 
chair,  apparently  oblivious  of  everything,  until  his 
watchful  wife  would  tell  him  it  was  time  to  go.  He 
had  softening  of  the  brain,  they  said,  but  he  must 
not  be  permitted  to  neglect  his  spiritual  duties.  The 
preparations  for  the  wedding  of  Drusilla  and  Barbold 


112  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

went  swiftly  forward,  and  amidst  them  this  broken 
old  man  seemed  to  be  the  only  disinterested  one. 
Barbold  came  often  and  stayed  long,  and  was  help 
ful  in  all  the  plans.  The  courtship  between  himself 
and  Brasilia  became  the  talk  of  the  neighborhood, 
as  a  first  marriage  always  is  among  the  Mormon 
women;  it  has  a  tinge  of  human  romance  even 
among  the  polygamists,  where  there  is  almost 
nothing  sacred  in  connection  with  marriage.  This 
seemed  so  truly  a  love  affair,  that  as  it  progressed, 
every  woman  looked  after  the  happy  pair  admiringly, 
and  saw  in  them  a  realization  of  her  own  dreams  or 
her  lost  hopes. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  glad  time,  when  the 
lovers  were  sitting  in  the  little  parlor  one  afternoon, 
that  a  hurried  knocking  sounded  on  the  street  door. 
Elizabeth  heard  it  from  the  back  part  of  the  house, 
and  by  the  time  her  daughter  had  opened  the  door 
she  was  at  her  side.  Before  her  stood  the  young 
man  whom  she  had  last  seen  at  the  outlying  "Stake 
of  Zion,"  bruised  and  weak  from  his  encounter  with 
the  Indians,  now  strong  and  defiant.  She  saw  it  all 
in  a  glance.  He  stood  a  moment  with  expectant 
face,  looking  into  hers,  and  then  demanded,  "Where 
is  Esther  Wainwright?" 

"Why!  do  you  not  know?"  answered  Elizabeth. 

"And  so  there  is  another  man  in  the  case,"  said 
Barbold  coldly;  "Oh  ho,  I  see,  that  makes  it  more 
interesting." 

This  coarse  speech  stung  the  girl  at  his  side,  and 
she  turned  away  to  hide  her  rising  color. 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  113 

The  young  stranger  kept  his  eyes  steadfastly  on 
Elizabeth,  but  listened  in  a  kind  of  daze  to  Barbold's 
words,  until  it  was  borne  in  upon  his  mind  that  no 
one  of  the  persons  before  him  knew  any  more  of 
Esther  than  he  did  himself. 

"And  you  do  not  know  where  she  is?"  he  said  to 
Elizabeth  in  a  tone  that  meant  much  more  than  his 
words. 

It  was  in  the  woman's  face,  by  this  time,  to  equiv 
ocate;  she  would  not  have  acknowledged  her  igno 
rance  of  Esther's  whereabouts  if  she  had  had  warn 
ing,  but  she  answered  with  his  eyes  still  upon  her, 
"I  do  not,  I  know  nothing  of  her.  I  supposed  you 
knew." 

"How  long  has  she  been  gone?" 

"Two  or  three  months." 

"Three  months  to-night,"  answered  Drusilla. 

It  was  not  necessary  to  ask  any  proof  that  Eliza 
beth  was  telling  the  truth;  the  whole  story,  so  far  as 
she  knew  it,  was  visible  in  her  surprised  face  and  at 
titude. 

Esther  was  lost  to  him,  and  to  them.  That  she 
had  fled  from  persecution,  he  knew  without  the  tell 
ing;  perhaps  she  had  gone  to  save  her  life.  He 
learned  that  she  had  never  become  a  Mormon,  and 
knew  that  the  young  man  with  whom  he  stood 
face  to  face  was  the  same  with  whom  he  had  once  so 
suddenly  resolved  to  make  a  desperate  race.  Now, 
so  far  as  gaining  the  consent  of  the  maid  was  con 
cerned,  he  had  no  doubt  that,  given  a  fair  field,  he 
could  win,  but  she  seemed  lost  to  both  of  them,  and 


114  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

he  turned  from  the  door  with  a  feeling  that  in  almost 
any  other  place  the  search  would  be  more  hopeful. 
The  one  encouraging  fact  in  the  case  was,  that  she 
was  not  in  Elizabeth's  toils,  and  therefore  almost  cer 
tainly  not  in  the  hands  of  the  Mormons.  If  she  had 
tried  to  fly  beyond  the  limits  of  the  city,  what  might 
not  have  befallen  her?  If  he  was  not  spurred  to  his 
chosen  task  of  finding  her,  dead  or  alive,  by  the 
rivalry  of  Barbold,  he  was  made  deeply  conscious 
by  his  visit  to  Elizabeth  that  he  must  save  her  if  she 
were  to  be  saved  at  all.  It  was  evident  that  all  search 
for  her  had  been  abandoned  by  Elizabeth's  family, 
and  even  the  lover  whom  he  had  feared  was  diverted 
by  a  new  face,  and  had  no  thought  of  trying  to  res 
cue  Esther.  He  alone  seemed  left  to  look  for  her  and 
protect  her.  His  heart  throbbed  with  the  thought  of 
how  gladly  he  would  shield  her  with  his  life,  if  nec 
essary,  but — what  could  he  do? 

It  seemed  impossible  that  this  was  the  end  of  the 
vision  that  had  urged  him  forward  during  the  toil- , 
some  and  hazardous  journey  he  had  just  accomplished, 
and  sustained  him  during  the  weeks  when  he  was 
again  prostrated  with  fever — the  inevitable  conse 
quence  of  his  hurried  flight,  and  his  determination  to 
reach  Salt  Lake  City  and  rescue  Esther  before  Eliza 
beth's  return. 

Naturally  his  thoughts  turned  first  to  her  father, 
and  having  been  informed  that  he  was  at  the  Taber 
nacle,  he  waited  to  see  him  pass  on  a  quiet  street; 
but  when  he  recognized,  with  difficulty,  the  tottering 


ESTHER   THE   GENTILE.  H5 

old  man,  whom  he  had  seen  but  once  or  twice  before, 
he  turned  aside  and  let  him  pass  undisturbed. 

The  happy,  trustful  look  had  all  faded  from  his 
eyes,  they  were  vacant  and  uncertain,  and  his  face 
was  full  of  the  lines  worn  by  the  constant  fear  of  evil. 
No  help  could  be  expected  of  him;  it  was  better  to 
let  him  go.  His  next  step  was  to  write  to  the  school 
teacher,  Ezekiel  Blounce,  at  his  old  home — for  if 
he  had  come  to  Salt  Lake  City,  Mark  did  not  know 
where  to  find  him. 

Then  he  walked  the  streets,  searching  day  and 
night  in  places  where  he  thought  she  might  be,  and 
in  others  where  he  was  sure  she  was  not.  He  learned 
that  she  had  not  been  seen  at  Camp  Douglas,  and  he 
inquired  from  door  to  door  in  the  Gentile  quarters 
of  the  city.  He  went  into  every  store  and  shop  on 
some  pretext  or  other,  but  the  weeks  passed  by  and 
he  found  no  trace  of  her. 

Once,  when  he  was  standing  near  the  entrance  to 
the  Endowment  House  watching  the  people  as  they 
passed  by,  in  the  vain  hope  that  he  might  see  the 
longed-for  face,  he  saw  a  wedding  procession  ap 
proach,  and  as  it  came  nearer  he  recognized  Barbold 
and  Drusilla,  followed  by  Mr.  Wainwright  and  Eliza 
beth.  Drusilla  was  brilliant  in  her  beauty,  and  Bar- 
bold,  too,  looked  proud  and  handsome.  There  was 
no  salutation  exchanged  between  them,  but  Eliza 
beth's  eagle  eye  saw  him,  and  she  knew  that  he  had 
not  yet  found  the  object  of  his  search.  Perhaps  she 
exulted  just  a  little,  now  that  her  daughter  was  to  be 


116  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

"sealed"  to  Brother  Barbold  before  there  was  a  pos 
sibility  of  Esther's  coming  between  them.  Mark 
looked  on  with  bitterness  and  fear  and  sorrow  in  his 
soul,  and  when  they  had  disappeared  within  those 
walls,  which,  could  they  speak,  could  tell  of  more 
human  woe  than  any  others  ever  erected  on  the 
western  continent,  he  turned  and  went  again  upon 
his  search. 


CHAPTER  XHI. 


5 HERE  had  been  a  great  religious  festival,  and  the 
streets  of  the  City  of  Zion  were  thronged  with 
people  going  home  from  the  Tabernacle  late  in  a 
windy  night.  For  a  few  blocks  they  nearly  all  went 
in  one  direction,  then  they  scattered  gradually  in 
their  various  ways.  While  this  slowly  moving  mass 
was  concentrated  within  a  short  space,  it  might  have 
seen,  with  more  or  less  of  its  many  eyes,  two  men 
peering  into  the  passing  faces.  They  stood  on  the 
inner  side  of  the  walk,  unnoticed  by  each  other,  both 
holding  to  their  wind-blown  garments  and  bracing 
themselves  against  the  gusts  that  came  down  the 
street  with  constantly  increasing  force.  There  were 
lamps  here  and  there  at  the  street  crossings,  that  flick 
ered  and  flared  up  and  almost  went  out  so  often  that 
the  darkness  seemed  intensified,  and  it  would  have 
been  impossible  to  recognize  any  one  except  in  a  rare 
lull  of  the  wind  while  it  took  breath  for  a  new  on 
slaught.  The  two  men  were  stationed  on  opposite 
sides  of  one  of  these  flaming  beacons,  and  were  as 
oblivious  of  each  other  as  most  of  the  people  they 
watched  were  of  them.  Suddenly  the  swirling  wind 
took  the  elderly  gentleman's  hat  from  his  head  and 
swiftly  and  directly  laid  it  at  the  feet  of  the  younger 
one,  as  if  fate  had  decreed  that  a  mysterious  messen- 

(117) 


118  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

ger  should  arise  in  the  southland  and  fly  thither  for 
that  purpose. 

Mark  Branch  stooped  to  pick  up  the  thing  that 
fluttered  at  his  feet  as  if  it  would  claim  attention, 
and  when  he  raised  his  head  again  Mr.  Blounce  stood 
before  him.  The  recognition  was  mutual  and  instan 
taneous.  They  clasped  each  other's  hands  and  forgot 
the  throng  about  them,  and  all  else  save  the  girl 
whose  retinue  of  friends  counted  two  —  themselves. 

Mr.  Blounce  guided  his  companion  out  of  the 
throng,  and,  in  utter  silence,  through  the  streets 
towards  the  least  frequented  part  of  the  city,  as  fast 
as  his  feeble  old  limbs  could  carry  him. 

"  She  is  safe  with  me,"  he  whispered  at  last,  in  an 
swer  to  Mark's  eager  questioning. 

"Are  we  on  the  way  to  her  now  ?  " 

"Yes;  turn  to  the  right — here." 

"  Then  tell  me  about  her.  Where  did  you  find 
her,  and  how  long  has  she  been  with  you  ? " 

"  She  has  been  with  me  since  she  left  her  father's 
house." 

"  Thank  God  for  that." 

"  I  came  here,  as  I  told  you  I  would,  directly  after 
you,  and  managed  to  watch  her  unseen,  almost  con 
stantly,  until  she  left  her  home  in  the  night.  I  knew 
it  would  come  to  that,  and  every  night  for  weeks  I 
hid  in  the  shrubbery  of  the  little  yard  and  waited. 
At  last  she  fled,  and  when  I  picked  her  up  she  was 
dumb  and  cold  with  fright.  She  had  escaped  dis 
covery  by  the  merest  chance,  and  I  half  carried  her 
through  the  streets,  fearing  to  be  stopped  at  every 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  H9 

step.  It  was  a  journey  of  which  I  shall  never  for 
get  the  slightest  incident,  and  my  blood  runs  cold 
when  I  recall  it.  My  feeble  old  arms  could  have  ta 
ken  her  up  and  carried  her,  easily,  but  I  knew  that 
would  attract  attention,  so  I  had  to  sustain  her  as 
she  walked,  and  talk  to  her  constantly  to  reassure 
her  that  we  were  not  followed,  and  yet  it  was  not 
safe  for  us  even  to  speak  a  word.  Her  nervous  feet 
tripped  on  every  obstruction,  and  once  or  twice  when 
we  heard  steps  behind  us  she  gasped  for  breath. 
Still  she  was  silent.  I  whispered  that  if  she  failed  we 
were  lost.  Then  her  step  grew  firmer  and  we  hur 
ried  on,  the  sounds  died  away  and  her  breath  came 
again.  It  seemed  a  long  time  before  we  reached  my 
little  lonely  house  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  city 
and  I  could  tell  Esther  she  was  safe.  I  told  her  I 
would  guard  her  with  my  life,  and  whatever  hap 
pened  she  must  be  still  and  trust  me.  She  has  trusted 
me  ever  since,  bless  her  heart,  as  a  child  would  a 
father.  But  see,"  he  said  holding  up  his  wrinkled 
hand  in  the  wan  light,  "I  am  old,  and  failing  fast; 
it  must  soon  be  a  trustier  arm  than  mine  that  pro 
tects  her." 

"Here's  the  hand  for  it,  with  a  heart  in  it,  Mr. 
Blounce,  if  that  is  what  you  want  to  know,"  and 
Mark  grasped  the  shriveled  fingers  warmly,  and  took 
hold  of  the  old  man's  arm  to  help  him  along.  They 
had  reached,  by  this  time,  a  dark,  unfrequented 
street,  and  Mr.  Blounce  forbade  any  further  conver 
sation. 

"  I  have  learned  to  be  enough  of  a  Mormon  never 


120  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

to  talk  in  the  dark,"  he  said,  and  he  noiselessly  guided 
the  steps  of  the  young  man  over  the  same  way  by 
which  he  had  taken  Esther  on  that  fearful  night. 
When  they  reached  open  ground  again  Mr.  Blounce 
resumed  his  story.  "I  knew  the  time  would  come 
when  Esther's  greatest  need  would  be  a  place  to  hide 
in;  and  I  knew,  too,  that  it  would  be  useless  to  ask 
her  to  leave  her  father.  Every  night  for  months  I 
waited  near  until  I  was  satisfied  she  was  in  her  bed, 
and  every  night  after  Elizabeth's  return  I  watched 
for  her  to  fly,  for  I  knew  some  things  of  which  she 
was  spared  all  knowledge.  How  I  found  them  out, 
it  would  take  a  long  time  to  tell;  in  many  ways.  At 
last  I  learned  that  if  Esther  positively  refused  to 
marry  young  Barbold,  she  would  be  forcibly  "sealed  " 
to  Elder  Bean.  I  hoped  that  in  some  way  she,  too, 
would  find  this  out,  but  I  did  not  intend  to  trust  en 
tirely  to  that.  The  night  she  fled,  the  sound  of  her 
sobs  warned  me  that  matters  had  come  to  an  issue 
between  herself  and  Elizabeth,  and  the  late  return  of 
her  father  made  me  suspect  that  he  had  been  conveni 
ently  put  out  of  the  way  while  some  plot  was  carried 
out.  Then  she  came  out  into  the  night  alone,  and  I 
followed  her  up  the  dark  street,  not  daring  to  speak 
lest  I  should  alarm  her,  and  she  should  make  some 
noise  that  would  betray  us.  But  we  escaped  and 
reached  a  safe  hiding  place;  then,  for  many  days,  her 
remorse  for  having  deserted  her  father  so  preyed  upon 
her  mind  that  I  sometimes  feared  she  would  escape 
me  and  return  to  Elizabeth's  house." 

"It  might  not  have  been."  she  would  say  to  herself, 


'ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  121 

Elizabeth  might  have  repented;  and  she  might  at 
least  have  remained  where  she  could  watch  her  poor 
father,  if  she  could  not  help  him,  she  thought.  "  But 
I  assured  her  that  if  she  had  not  left  her  father  in 
that  way  she  would  soon  have  been  forcibly  separated 
from  him,  and  he  would  have  grieved  for  her  much 
more  than  if  he  knew  the  truth.  That,  I  am  sure, 
would  have  been  a  great  consolation  to  him;  but  he 
probably  believes  that  Elizabeth  was  instrumental  in 
her  disappearance;  they  would  never  tell  him  the 
truth,  I  fear.  It  is  an  anxious  life  we  two  have  led 
in  the  outskirts  of  this  beautiful  city,  but  I  have  been 
able  to  keep  her,  to  save  her  from  them,  and  now 
you  have  come." 

They  clasped  each  other's  hands  again,  but  neither 
tried  to  speak,  until  Mr.  Blounce  lifted  the  latch  of  a 
little  wicket  gate,  and  asked  his  companion  to  come 
in. 

"  This  is  where  we  have  waited  and  watched  since 
that  awful  night,"  he  said,  and  then  tapped  lightly 
on  the  door  of  the  little  cottage  before  them.  It  was 
opened  immediately,  and  Esther's  voice  said,  "Oh, 
you  have  come  at  last;  I  was  so  frightened;  I  cannot 
help  being  afraid  when  you  stay  so  long  away." 

"Yes,  I  have  come,  and  not  alone;  see,  I  have 
brought  a  friend,"  and  Mr.  Blounce  led  Mark  to 
Esther's  side  and  turned  away  from  the  silent  greet 
ing.  She  had  known  him  again  at  first  sight,  but 
because  her  heart  beat  fast  she  shrank  the  more. 
Mark  took  her  hand  and  once  more  looked  into  her 
pure  eyes,  this  time  \\ith  more  confidence  that  their 


122  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

answer  would  be  plain;  that  he  could  see  what  he 
wished  for,  their  kindly  remembrance  of  him.  There 
was  no  time  there  for  the  delays  of  conventional 
peace,  the  exigencies  of  war  make  all  things  fair  in 
love;  and  if  Mark  took  his  place  beside  the  girl  he 
had  lived  to  save  as  though  he  were  an  accepted 
suitor,  it  was  not  because  he  felt  that  she  must  of 
necessity  choose  him,  nor  that  he  believed  himself  to 
be  irresistible  in  her  eyes.  To  be  "  taken  by  storm  " 
pleases  all  women,  but  the  general  of  such  a  master 
stroke  must  not  be  an  egotist.  Mark  looked  upon 
Esther  as  Dante  upon  his  Beatrice,  a  being  high 
above  and  purer  than  he.  Yet  he  alone  could  save 
her,  and  the  subtle  communicant,  whether  it  be  spirit 
or  substance,  that  flies  from  a  heart  to  its  mate,  told 
him  she  would  choose  to  be  saved  by  him  rather  than 
by  any  other. 

Then  it  was  told  and  retold  how  they  had  fled  to 
gether  that  dreadful  night,  Esther  and  her  protector, 
the  old  teacher.  There  seemed  to  be  no  end  to  what 
must  be  recounted  of  the  suffering  each  had  endured 
in  the  past,  nor  to  the  plans  they  must  make  for  the 
future. 

When  they  talked  of  the  Latter  Day  Saints,  and 
the  fears  they  had  felt  of  the  vengeance  that  might 
be  meted  out  to  Esther  if  ever  she  fell  into  their 
clutches,  the  old  teacher's  face  wore  a  look  like  some 
great  beast  at  bay,  it  was  so  determined;  but  when 
he  bent  his  eyes  upon  the  fawn  at  his  side,  it  was  all 
gentleness. 

Esther  would  have  been  more  than  woman,  and 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  123 

less  than  maiden,  had  she  not  almost  forgotten,  for  a 
time,  the  difficulties  which  surrounded  her.  In  the 
sweet  realization  that  she  is  first  and  dearest  in  the 
care  of  a  strong  arm  and  a  brave  heart,  a  woman  feels 
so  secure  that  all  danger  is  dwarfed,  and  in  the  first 
happy  hours  of  this  security  Esther  felt  safe.  The 
narrow  walls  that  held  her  were  dissolved,  and  she 
was  free  in  spirit,  and  content  merely  to  wait  for  the 
time,  which  must  be  near  at  hand,  it  seemed  to  her, 
when  her  father  and  Mr.  Blounce,  her  new  friend  and 
herself,  should  all  go  back  to  the  old  hills,  or  at  least 
away  from  Salt  Lake  City,  out  of  the  sight  and  knowl 
edge  of  the  things  that  had  made  her  old  in  sorrow 
while  yet  a  child  in  years. 

Mark  Branch  came  every  night  to  the  little  house 
as  soon  as  darkness  shielded  him,  for  it  was  known 
to  the  neighborhood  only  that  an  old  man  lived  there 
alone,  and  by  invisible  degrees  he  and  Esther  were 
drawn  nearer  and  nearer  to  each  other. 

He  talked  constantly  to  Mr.  Blounce,  when  they 
met,  according  to  a  plan  of  the  previous  evening, 
sometimes  in  one  place  and  sometimes  in  another,  of 
taking  Esther  away,  anywhere  out  of  the  danger  that 
constantly  surrounded  her  there.  Each  time  he  was 
answered  by  a  solemn  shake  of  the  old  man's  head, 
and  the  assurance  that  Esther  would  never  leave  Utah 
without  her  father,  not  even  as  Mark's  wife.  This 
seemed  so  unreasonable  to  Mark,  since  she  could  not 
even  see  her  father,  and  while  it  was  unsafe  for  her 
to  go  upon  the  streets  or  even  be  seen  by  any  save 
themselves,  that  he  could  not  be  convinced  of  it  easily. 


124  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

"  I  will  ask  her,"  lie  said,  after  a  week  had  gone 
by  and  he  had  begun  to  chafe  at  her  imprisonment. 
But  the  old  man  begged  him  not  to  mention  it  to  her. 
He  seemed  frightened  at  the  idea,  and  exacted  a 
promise  from  Mark  that  he  would  at  least  delay. 
Almost  every  day  the  young  man  had  some  new  plan 
to  explain  to  Mr.  Blounce,  with  the  utmost  faith  that 
he,  too,  must  believe  in  it,  and  would  help  put  it  into 
effect.  The  old  man  always  listened,  but  listened  in 
silence,  and  sometimes  a  look  so  sad  and  weary  would 
come  over  his  face  that  Mark  was  perplexed  almost 
beyond  endurance.  With  him,  to  plan  meant  to  do; 
he  had  not  learned  that  it  sometimes  means  to  wait. 

"Why  is  it  that  you  oppose  me  so  determinedly  in 
this?  Have  you  ever  asked  Esther  to  go  away?  Do 
you  know  that  she  would  not  consent?"  Mark  asked 
at  last,  decided  in  his  own  mind  that  unless  Mr. 
Blounce  gave  him  some  good  reason,  or  explained 
something  that  he  did  not  understand,  he  would  that 
night  propose  to  Esther  that  they  leave  her  father, 
since  they  could  not  take  him  with  them,  and  go  out 
of  the  Territory. 

"No,  I  have  never  asked  her;  I  know  she  would 
not  go." 

A  heavy  sigh,  almost  like  a  sob,  shook  the  old  man, 
and  then  he  straightened  himself  up  and  looked  Mark 
in  the  eye  quickly  and  piercingly  as  was  his  habit,  as 
if  a  fear  had  suddenly  come  to  him.  The  look  always 
eeemed  to  allay  his  suspicion,  however,  and  it  was  put 
aside.  "No,  I  have  never  asked  her,"  he  repeated, 
"and  it  is  not  safe  that  I  should  longer  delay  telling 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  125 

you  why  I  would  not  have  you  ask  her.  It  seems  a 
crime  to  calculate  the  love  of  an  innocent  heart  like 
that  child's,  but  she  has  nobody  but  you  and  me.  You 
are  her  friend,  too,  no  one  could  deceive  me  in  this; 
and  I  would  have  her  trust  you  so  wholly  that  no 
shadow  of  a  fear  could  enter  her  heart.  I  cannot 
stay  by  her  long;  old  age  creeps  on  with  rapid  pace, 
because  I  fear  it  so,  I  think,  not  for  myself,  but  for 
her.  The  knowledge  that  she  would  be  left  alone,  here, 
would  stop  the  beating  of  this  old  heart  with  terror 
for  her.  I  should  have  been  mad  with  fear  before 
now  if  I  had  not  found  you,  or  you  had  not  found  us. 
To  your  keeping  I  must  some  day  lay  down  my  trust; 
no  one  else  wants  it  but  to  curse  and  torture.  You 
comprehend  me?  Look  into  her  eyes  to-night;  re 
member  what  she  has  borne;  read,  if  you  can,  the 
purity  of  her  soul,  and  be  worthy  of  the  love  you  see 
dawning  in  it.  Give  her  no  cause  to  doubt  that  you 
will  stay  by  her." 

From  that  hour  Mark  Branch  understood  that  to 
suggest  to  Esther  the  idea  of  leaving  Salt  Lake  City 
without  her  father,  would  be  to  create  in  her  mind  a 
fear  that  if  she  refused,  he,  her  friend,  might  go  alone. 
Her  friend;  yes,  that  was  the  only  title  Esther's 
thoughts  had  ever  bestowed  upon  him;  but  the 
promptings  of  his  own  heart,  his  conversation  with 
Mr.  Blounce,  and  the  extremity  of  Esther's  position, 
had  made  him  aware  in  this  short  time  that  he 
was  more  than  friend,  and  that  he  longed  to  be 
more  than  lover.  It  is  not  a  pleasant  thing  to  leave 
out  of  the  lives  of  two  people  BO  well  adapted  to 
8 


126  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

love  each  other  as  Mark  Branch  and  Esther  Wain- 
wright  the  amenities  of  a  courtship,  but  there  are 
instances  when  neither  time  nor  circumstance  will 
permit  this  sweet  dalliance,  and  this  was  such  a  one. 
On  the  night  after  Mr.  Blounce  appealed  to  Mark 
to  spare  Esther  the  pain  he  was  sure  a  proposition  to 
abandon  Salt  Lake  City  would  give  her,  a  stranger 
accompanied  the  young  man  along  the  shaded  streets 
to  the  quiet  part  of  the  city  where  Esther  was  in 
hiding.  The  little  cottage  was  not  lighted  as  if  for 
a  wedding,  but  its  humble  walls  sheltered  a  bride  as 
brave  as  ever  man  won  with  longer  wooing,  and  no 
more  solemn  vows  were  ever  uttered  than  the  simple 
ones  which  made  the  young  surveyor  and  Esther 
Wainwright  husband  and  wife.  They  stood  beside 
each  other  with  no  witnesses  but  Ezekiel  Blounce 
and  the  minister,  who  saw  them  for  the  first  time  as 
he  pronounced  the  bond.  It  was  a  simple  ceremony, 
but  it  meant  much  to  the  three  principal  actors. 
Never  since  he  had  first  recognized  her  as  the  flower 
of  his  heart,  that  summer  morning  when  he  was  bot- 
anizing,  had  Mark  questioned  the  feeling  which 
prompted  him  to  seek  her,  and  to  defend  and  protect 
her;  and  in  the  weary  months  when  he  had  sought 
her,  morning,  noon  and  night,  up  and  down  the 
streets  of  that  sorrow-haunted  city,  he  had  learned 
that  his  life  was  inseparable  from  hers. 

And  Esther's?  Ah,  a  maiden's  heart  is  more  easily 
taught  than  a  man's,  and  sufiering  had  given  her's  a 
woman's  strength  and  cleverness. 

Mr.  Blounce,  the  god-father  of  both,  blessed  them 


ESTHER    THE  GENTILE.  127 

with  a  faltering  voice.  No  hand  could  snatch  Esther 
from  his  sight  now,  not  even  the  emissaries  of  the 
Presidency  of  the  Saints  could  take  the  lawful  wife 
of  a  Gentile  from  her  home.  It  was  no  longer  nec 
essary  that  she  should  hide  from  her  enemies,  and 
Mark's  devotion  soon  inspired  Esther  with  a  sense  of 
peace  and  security  which  nothing  but  the  support  of 
a  helpmeet  of  the  heart  ever  gives. 

The  day  after  their  marriage  they  watched  on  an 
unfrequented  street  for  Esther's  father,  and  it  chanced 
that  he  went  alone  to  the  Tahernacle.  When  he  saw 
Esther  standing  before  him  he  looked  dazed  for  a 
moment,  and  then  after  an  anxious  glance  about  him, 
fell  into  her  open  arms.  But  he  started  from  her  in 
the  midst  of  his  mingled  joy  and  grief,  and  looked 
nervously  at  her  companion  who  had  approached  to 
support  him,  and  although  Mark  spoke  to  him  in 
gentle  tones,  and  tried  to  assure  him  that  he  would 
be  a  friend  to  him  as  well  as  to  Esther,  a  look  of  fear 
came  into  his  face,  and  when  they  asked  him  to  go 
with  them  he  passed  his  hand  wearily  over  his  fore 
head  as  if  trying  to  comprehend  it  all,  but  sadly 
shook  his  head  as  though  pained  that  they  should  re 
mind  him  of  anything  besides  Esther's  presence. 
And  when  they  uged  him,  though  a  look  of  indecis 
ion  wavered  for  an  instant  in  his  eyes,  he  soon  began 
to  repeat  that  "  he  must  do  his  duty,"  and  in  a  mo 
ment  more  bade  them  good  bye,  and  tottered  on  his 
way,  leaving  to  Mark  the  care  of  the  tender  heart, 
which,  had  not  love  for  him  tilled  it,  would  soon 
have  burst  with  grief. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


IF  there  had  been  a  time  in  the  remote  past  when 
Elizabeth  labored  for  love,  it  must  have  been 
brought  vividly  to  her  remembrance  when  she  saw 
Drusilla  and  Barbold  together.  They  were  so  fond, 
and  so  absorbed  in  their  fondness.  Drusilla's  face 
beamed  constantly,  and  her  husband  looked  on  her 
dotingly.  If  it  had  been  possible,  with  his  sur 
roundings,  he  would  have  forgotten  half  the  services 
at  the  Tabernacle.  Elizabeth  did  not  permit  that, 
but  she  looked  on  with  approving  eyes  while  they 
sauntered  together,  oblivious  of  all  the  world.  If  the 
depths  of  her  bosom  yet  held  a  mother's  heart,  she 
must  have  secretly  wished  that  they  might  fly  from 
all  that  had  made  her  what  she  was.  She  would  sit 
and  watch  them  by  the  hour,  and  discourse  upon 
their  devotion  to  the  eager  Mormon  women  whose 
hearts,  one  might  suppose,  had  long  since  been 
drained  of  feeling.  That,  however,  was  the  one  idea 
that  aroused  them. 

After  all  the  years  of  oppression  and  deceit,  their 
woman's  nature  asserted  itself  whenever  the  tender 
sentiment  was  broached;  they  hungered  even  for  a 
sight  of  love-making,  and  when  a  daughter  became 
a  first-wife  it  was  a  matter  of  boasting  and  congratu 
lation.  Not  that  it  was  expected  her  position  as  an 
only  wife  would  last,  but  it  was  her  one  short  oppor- 

(128) 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  129 

tunity  to  taste  the  sweet  romance  which  belongs  bj 
right  to  every  woman,  and  which  but  few  are  privi 
leged  to  know  in  that  empire  of  legalized  heart 
breaking. 

Brasilia  accepted  her  happiness  in  good  faith,  it 
filled  her  so  completely.  It  was  natural,  too,  that 
she  should  know  no  grave  suspicions  of  the  institu 
tion  in  which  she  had  been  reared.  Familiar  as  she 
was  with  the  plural  marriage  system,  she  had  never 
put  herself  in  the  place  of  a  plural  wife  since  it  had 
become  a  matter  of  interest  to  her  whether  she 
should  ever  be  one  or  not.  She  believed  that  she 
was  all  in  all  to  her  husband,  and  in  trusting  him 
she  proved  herself  but  human,  and  woman,  not  Mor 
mon.  Their  lives  together  were  like  those  of  care 
less  children,  too  thoughtless  to  be  long  secure  in 
their  own  strength,  even  in  an  atmosphere  where 
laws  and  customs  would  have  helped  to  sustain  them. 

The  superficial  happiness  was  sure  to  be  disturbed 
by  the  first  temptation  that  crossed  Barbold's  path; 
even  Elizabeth  must  have  acknowledged  that  to  her 
self,  and  the  promptings  of  her  motherhood  caused 
her  to  shield  them  as  well  as  she  could  from  all  dis 
tractions.  She  neither  insisted  that  they  should  go 
to  merry-makings,  nor  that  Barbold  should  be  more 
active  in  church  work  than  was  required  to  maintain 
the  standing  he  had  already  gained.  Her  aggressive 
impatience  for  his  advancement  was  all  laid  aside, 
and  one  who  did  not  know  her  well  could  not  have 
believed  that  she  was  only  biding  the  time  when  her 
daughter's  happy  dream  should  be  over;  that  she 


130  ESTHER    THE  GENTILE. 

conld  calmly  sit  and  wait,  without  an  effort  to  save 
them  from  the  fate  she  saw  so  surely  impending,  for 
the  time  when  her  greatest  interest  in  life  would  be 
to  secure  the  preferment  of  her  son-in-law,  and 
through  him  add  to  her  own  power  in  the  Church. 
She  must  have  felt  a  twinge,  now  and  then,  that 
brought  to  mind  her  long  lost  conscience,  but  if  she 
did  she  mistook  her  zeal  for  the  Church  of  Zion  for 
its  better  part,  and  suffered  the  pang  in  silence. 
During  this  delightful  season,  while  the  little  play  of 
love  and  marriage  was  going  on  between  Barbold 
and  Brasilia,  poor  old  Mr.  "Wainwright  was  made  to 
do  double  duty  as  a  figure-head  for  the  family  at  the 
Tabernacle.  Every  day  he  dragged  his  weary  steps 
back  and  forth  over  the  hot  pavements,  and  sat  with 
his  vacant  stare  fixed  on  the  priest  who  propounded 
his  damnation.  Sometimes  he  would  remain  in  his 
seat  after  the  others  had  gone,  dozing  and  dreaming, 
smiling  like  a  babe  at  his  fancies  one  day,  and  weep 
ing  bitter  tears  that  would  not  be  suppressed  another. 
He  took  no  notice  of  the  young  pair  in  Elizabeth's 
house,  nor  showed  any  sign  that  he  missed  his 
daughter,  except  rarely  when  a  door  opened  hur 
riedly  or  there  was  some  unusual  commotion;  then 
he  would  look  up  quickly  with  a  gleam  of  glad  ex 
pectancy  in  his  face,  but  when  she  did  not  appear 
he  would  immediately  forget  her  again,  and  relapse 
into  his  brooding  quiet. 

This  household,  with  its  divers  minds,  was  only  a 
sample  among  thousands  in  that  cruel  city  where 
women's  hearts  seemed  the  prey  that  all  the  brother- 


ESTHER    THE   Q  EN  TILE.  131 

hood  of  Latter  Day  Saints  had  combined  to  torture. 
Here,  for  a  little  time,  a  ray  of  the  sunshine  of  love 
lighted  the  hearthstone  for  all  but  the  lonely  old  man, 
and  made  a  bright  scene  in  the  bigoted  and  scheming 
rule  that  Elizabeth  had  long  held  over  it.  Prayers 
that  it  might  last,  that  Elizabeth's  heart  might  be 
softened,  that  Barbold's  shallow  nature  might  be 
changed  and  that  he  might  remain  true  to  the  inspi 
ration  which  bound  him  for  a  time  to  Drusilla,  would 
not  avail;  a  life  in  that  atmosphere  makes  one  doubt 
that  the  tearful  petitions  which  have  so  often  been 
breathed  in  fear  from  trembling  lips,  and  borne  aloft 
on  the  sighs  of  a  bleeding  heart,  can  penetrate  the 
hideousness.  The  pall  is  so  black  with  blood  that 
has  been  drained,  drop  by  drop,  from  hoping,  trust 
ing,  fearing,  dying  women's  hearts;  it  is  so  weighted 
down  with  misery  and  ignorance  and  blasphemy,  that 
only  some  great  convulsion  can  rend  it  and  let  the 
light  of  Heaven  come  through,  and  the  supplications 
ascend. 

While  there  are  women  in  America  who  have 
homes,  husbands,  children,  love,  which  they  call  their 
own,  can  they  indifferently  look  upon  the  spectacle 
presented  in  Utah?  No,  it  is  impossible.  It  is  not 
in  woman's  heart  to  know  that  in  a  portion  of  her 
own  fair  land  there  is  a  sect,  calling  its  doctrines  a 
religion,  which  takes  from  a  wife  the  husband  who 
has  sworn  to  protect  and  cherish  her,  the  father  who 
has  set  himself  for  an  example  to  her  children,  and 
not  only  permits  him  to  espouse  another  who  must 
bear  children  to  look  with  envious  eyes  on  all  that 


132  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

goes  to  their  unnatural  half-brothers  and  sisters,  but 
declares  that  God  commands  this  sacrilege  of  his  holy 
laws,  this  sacrifice  of  the  most  ennobling  sentiment 
He  saw  fit  in  the  beginning  to  implant  in  the  soul, 
and  be  unmoved. 

Call  it  selfish,  if  you  like;  love  is  the  passion  that, 
in  its  highest  type,  for  a  pure  object,  will  achieve 
more  than  all  others. 

Fame,  the  reward  for  which  ambition  strives,  fades 
into  nothingness  in  contrast  with  the  peace  that  rules 
over  the  realm  of  two  hearts. 

Genius  is  bungling  beside  it. 

Avarice  is  palsied  by  the  dross  that  clings  like  a 
magnet  to  its  lean  hands  for  a  day,  and  then  takes  wings. 

Call  it  unselfish,  rather,  this  transport  of  the  soul 
that  will  not  die  even  under  scorn,  contumely,  rob 
bery,  scourging,  and  desertion,  but  will  live,  bearing 
all  these,  to  toil  for  the  child  of  the  father  who  has 
caused  its  sorrow,  and  wait  with  bursting  heart  and 
straining  arms  for  his  repentance.  Call  it  divine, 
this  attribute  of  the  heart  that  has  made  Mormon 
women  suffer  as  the  slave  women  of  the  South  never 
did.  They  were  torn  from  their  homes  by  masters, 
while  their  husbands  mourned;  the  Mormon  women 
are  slaves  to  their  husbands,  concubines  to  their  re 
ligion,  martyrs  to  a  despotism  as  immoral  as  cursed 
Sodom  of  old.  A  Mormon  wife  is  set  aside  by  the 
very  hand  that  should  clasp  hers  while  all  the  world 
goes  by,  degraded  into  hopeless  shame  and  woe,  while 
her  husband  makes  new  vows  and  bestows  upon  an 
other  her  name,  the  fond,  proud  title  of  wife. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


YOU  will  remember,  dear  reader,  it  was  the  leafj 
summer  time  when  Mark  and  Esther  were  wed 
ded.  Little  by  little  he  enticed  her  to  make  short 
excursions  into  the  mountains,  to  leave  the  hateful 
city  for  a  day  or  a  few  hours,  that  she  might  breathe 
the  unpolluted  air  and  walk  in  the  sunlight  that  had 
so  long  been  denied  her.  Here,  along  the  mountain 
streams,  with  such  friendly  witnesses  as  trees  and 
rocks  and  waving  grasses,  the  riper  acquaintance  of 
this  young  husband  and  wife  was  made,  and  all  un 
aware  to  herself  the  bloom  of  youth — youth's 
beauty — came  back  to  her  face  as  the  love-light  in 
creased  in  her  eyes. 

The  thought  of  her  father  was  always  with  Esther, 
but  she  could  do  something  to  alleviate  the  suffering 
this  thought  caused  her,  by  ministering  to  Mr. 
Blounce,  and  she  could  not  but  grow  happier  witk 
Mark.  He  and  the  old  teacher  together  had  man 
aged  to  see  Mr.  Wainwright  often  enough  to  impres» 
upon  his  feeble  mind  the  location  of  Esther's  home, 
on  a  quiet,  pretty  street  where  Mark  had  taken  her, 
so  that  if  ever  the  time  came  when  he  could  turn  to 
her  he  would  know  where  to  find  her.  Esther  rarely 
ventured  to  intercept  him,  because  she  knew  so  well 
that  if  ever  they  were  seen  together  any  subsequent 
meetings  would  be  prevented,  but  her  mind  followed 

(133) 


134  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

him  with  loving  compassion  every  day,  as  he  moved 
like  a  spirit  along  the  streets  and  was  absorbed  in  the 
throng  that  passed  into  the  Juggernaut  of  the  Nine 
teenth  Century,  the  Mormon  Tabernacle.  And  every 
day  she  and  Mark  watched  with  almost  equal  solici 
tude  the  waning  of  the  life  of  their  old  friend,  Eze- 
kiel  Blounce.  The  passion  of  hate  and  the  corro 
sions  of  fear  had  been  chiseled  away  from  his  face 
since  Esther's  marriage,  and  a  great  peace  had  settled 
in  their  stead.  The  strong  spirit  shone  unveiled  by 
human  desires;  his  one  great  wish  having  been  grati 
fied  completely  as  time  went  on,  and  he  saw  Mark 
and  Esther  content  together. 

With  the  coming  of  the  chill  winds  of  autumn,  a 
weakness  overtook  the  old  man,  from  which  it  was 
evident  he  could  not  rally,  indeed,  he  had  no  wish  to 
throw  it  off;  and  his  two  young  friends  could  not  fail 
to  see  that  it  was  rest  that  was  coming  to  him,  and  to 
realize  that  it  would  be  cruel  to  wish  him  to  take  up 
again  the  burden  of  life.  He  had  carried  it  so  long, 
BO  heroically,  alone  all  these  many  years,  and  if  he 
lived  longer,  trouble,  instead  of  joy,  might  enshroud 
him  at  the  last.  Now  he  could  "lie  down  to  pleas 
ant  dreams." 

One  evening  when  the  three  sat  together  in  the 
twilight  of  one  of  the  last  warm  evenings  of  Septem 
ber,  the  old  man  looked  tenderly  upon  Esther  for  a 
long  time,  and  then  turned  to  her  husband  and  said  : 
"Perhaps  you  would  like  to  know,  Mark,  why  I 
have  loved  this  little  woman  so  long,  even  before  I 
learned  to  love  her  for  her  own  sweet  sake,  though 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  135 

that  was  long  ago.  I  have  often  thought  to  tell  you, 
and  her.  I'll  do  it  now,  I  may  never  have  the 
strength  again.  I  am  exhaling  it  with  every  breath. 
You  know  how  I  taught  her  when  she  was  a  wee 
thing,  how  I  have  seen  her  grow  from  a  shy  and 
modest  maiden  to  a  noble  woman ;  she  has  told  you 
that  I  was  her  mother's  friend,  but  she  has  not  told 
you,  for  she  never  knew,  that  I  loved  her  grand 
mother,  whose  counterpart  in  face  and  form  and 
character  she  is.  I  never  called  her  wife,  she  mar 
ried  another,  but  that  did  not  interrupt  my  love  for 
her,  and,  God  help  her,  I  always  feared  it  did  not 
change  her's  for  me.  It  does  not  concern  you  to 
know  how  this  occurred;  it  did,  and  changed  the 
current  of  my  life  from  gladness  to  weary  waiting. 
Her  daughter,  Esther's  mother,  was  not  like  the 
woman  I  loved,  but  her  granddaughter,  this  child,  has 
her  image,  and,  I  verily  believe,  her  spirit.  Do  you 
wonder  that  Hove  her,  that  I  want  to  see  her  loved? 
So  many  years  I  bore  the  sorrows  of  another  in  my 
heart;  I  did  not  care  for  my  own,  but  0,  the  agony 
of  knowing  that  the  one  who  was  to  me  before  and 
above  all  suffered,  and  I  dare  not  put  out  my  hand 
to  help,  much  less  to  save !  It  killed  her  at  last,  and 
I  wondered  for  years  why  it  did  not  kill  me,  it  would 
have  been  a  mercy;  but  now  I  know,  and  I  am  satis 
fied.  I  shall  go  soon  to  seek  her,  perhaps  to  find 
her;  who  knows?  At  any  rate,  I  am  glad  to  start 
upon  the  quest;  everything  else  makes  me  weary,  so 
weary,  now." 

The  old  man's  head  bent  forward  and  rested  on 


136  ESTHER   THE   GENTILE. 

his  wrinkled  hands  that  were  supported  by  his  staff, 
just  as  Mark  had  seen  him  that  awful  night  in  the 
hills,  where  he  first  made  his  acquaintance.  "It  has 
been  my  privilege,"  he  resumed,  "  to  take  the  place 
of  a  grandfather  to  Esther,  her  grandchild.  I  have 
not  lived  so  long  in  vain.  When  I  am  gone  you  will 
find  in  my  chest  a  small,  worn  book  of  poems,  trans 
lated  from  the  German;  it  was  left  with  her  by  a 
traveler  who  discovered  in  her  a  poetic  nature,  one 
with  which  Esther's  rhymes  exactly.  The  book  was  a 
rare  possession  in  those  days,  and  it  was  read  many 
times,  both  by  the  happy  maiden,  and  later  by  the 
sorrow-burdened  woman.  When  she  closed  her  eyes 
and  laid  down  to  rest  she  sent  the  little  volume, 
wrapped  in  a  square  of  white  linen,  which  her  hands 
spun  and  wove,  to  me.  They  are  the  only  visible 
mementoes  of  her  I  ever  had,  and  when  I  am  gone 
Esther  will  keep  them.  The  image  in  my  heart  was 
always  visible  to  me,  and  before  me  there  was  a  great 
dial,  with  a  long  hand  pointing  to  'what  should  have 
been.'  Do  what  I  might,  it  was  always  turning,  and 
if  I  sometimes  looked  away  it  was  always  there  when 
I  looked  back,  pointing  to  my  lost  life.  It  was  the 
unrelenting  hand  of  fate,  and  I  its  helpless  victim." 

"But  you  do  not  comprehend  me,  my  children," 
said  the  old  man,  as  he  raised  his  massive  head  and 
saw  them  gazing  at  him,  wondering  at  the  strange 
tale.  "  God  grant  you  never  may." 

Not  many  days  after  he  had  told  this  brief  story 
of  his  life  to  Mark  and  Esther,  Ezekiel  Blounce 
started  upon  the  search  for  his  love.  He  entered 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  137 

upon  the  road  so  often  traveled,  but  which  must  yet 
be  explored  anew  by  every  man,  fearlessly  and 
gladly. 

The  last  returning  ray  to  his  great  calm  eyes  car 
ried  the  picture  of  Mark  and  Esther  standing  with 
clasped  hands  by  his  side,  and  the  last  conviction  of 
his  mind  was  that  their  hearts  were  inseparable  for 
ever. 

A  dull  leaden  pall  hung  in  the  sky  and  covered  all 
the  earth  the  day  they  carried  him  to  his  first  home 
— the  grave;  and  Esther  said  it  was  typical  of  his 
life,  forever  shadowed  by  a  great  grief,  with  not  a  ray 
of  the  sunshine  of  hope  to  illumine  the  long,  weary 
way. 

But  Mark  gently  reminded  her  that  one  ray  had 
come  to  him  at  last,  the  same  bright  ray  that  made 
the  full  day  of  his  life,  and  would  unto  the  end. 


CHAPTER  XVI 


AA  ARK  and  Esther  lived  frugally.  Mark  found 
•*  L  some  local  and  temporary  employment,  and  he 
had  frequent  opportunities  to  go  out  with  surveying 
parties  into  the  mountains,  but  both  he  and  Esther 
knew  too  well  the  terrible  hazards  of  such  expedi 
tions.  There  were  not  only  mountain  dangers  to 
fear,  there  were  sleuth  hounds  yet  remaining  of  the 
Danites. 

A  Gentile  who  had  enticed  a  Mormon  from  almost 
within  the  fold  was  never  safe  alone  with  Mormons; 
on  such  occasions  they  might  all  be  Danites — no  one 
could  tell.  So,  on  the  whole,  though  their  life  was 
quiet  and  confined  within  a  narrow  space,  it  was  full 
of  apprehension.  Mark  told  Esther  of  many  things 
that  were  new  to  her,  and  made  plans  for  future 
journeyings  out  into  the  world,  with  herself  as  the 
admiring  queen  who  would  ride  in  an  enchanted 
chariot,  and  himself  as  guide  and  protector. 

The  winter  came  on,  and  a  fireside  was  established, 
that  magnet  around  which  the  home-idea  concentrates 
closer  than  round  any  other.  Mark  and  Esther  sat 
before  the  fire  one  evening,  a  little  more  alert  than 
usual  to  the  noises  of  the  street,  because  Mark  had 
that  day  passed  the  house  where  Elizabeth  and  Mr. 
"Wainwright  lived,  and  had  seen  the  old  man  sup 
ported  by  pillows  in  an  arm  chair  near  a  window. 

(138) 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  139 

He  seemed  feebler  and  paler  than  ever,  and  Mark 
knew  that  the  time  would  soon  come  when  Esther 
must  hear  the  tidings  of  his  death. 

She  had  longed  so  much  to  go  to  him,  but  Mark 
had  always  assured  her  that  it  was  folly  to  try  to 
gain  admission  to  Elizabeth's  house,  and  the  old  man 
had  grown  too  weak  both  in  body  and  mind  to  ven 
ture  alone  to  the  Tabernacle;  hence  she  never  saw 
him  now. 

They  could  do  nothing  more  for  him  in  life,  but 
Esther  had  set  her  heart  upon  taking  his  body  to  the 
old  home  when  the  spirit  left  it,  and  though  she  had 
little  hope  that  Elizabeth  would  comply  with  her  re 
quest  to  summon  her  to  receive  the  precious  remains, 
she  could  not  help  expecting  it  hourly.  They  were 
not  surprised,  therefore,  though  it  startled  them  both, 
to  hear  a  knock  at  the  door  late  that  evening.  It  did 
seem  a  little  strange  to  them  that  the  person  who  thus 
asked  for  admission  should  come  to  the  back  door, 
since  it  opened  into  a  small  enclosed  yard,  almost  in 
accessible  to  strangers  from  the  street. 

Esther  followed  her  husband  closely,  as  he  carried 
a  light  to  the  door  at  the  back  part  of  the  house,  and 
as  he  began  to  unfasten  it  she  put  her  hand  upon  his 
arm  and  suddenly  demanded  to  know  who  was  there. 

"Oh,  Esther!  let  me  in,  quick,  quick,"  answered 
a  voice  that  Esther  knew  well,  despite  the  pain  and 
alarm  that  vibrated  in  it.  Mark  hastily  opened  the 
door  and  Drusilla  staggered  against  it,  white  and 
wild. 

"Will   you   come  with   me,  Esther?"  she   cried, 


140  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

"I  have  come  for  you;  O,  Esther,  don't  say  you 
can't  come,  there  was  no  one  else  I  could  ask.  You 
will  save  me,  will  you  not?  They  are  going  to  make 
me  see  her  to-morrow  in  my  own  house;  you  will  not 
let  them,  Esther,  I  cannot  bear  it,"  and  the  exhausted 
woman  sank  on  the  floor  at  Esther's  feet.  Her  black 
hair  hung  in  long  locks  around  her  face;  her  cheeks, 
that  only  half  a  year  ago  were  round  and  blooming 
with  the  roses  of  happiness,  were  colorless  and  hol 
low,  and  her  black  eyes  shone  with  the  frenzy  of  de 
spair.  She  would  have  moved  to  pity  any  woman's 
heart,  and  Esther,  quickly  divining  the  cause  of  her 
grief,  stooped  beside  her  and  took  the  wild  face  in 
her  gentle  hands. 

"I  will  do  anything  I  can  for  you,  Brasilia;  what 
is  it?  Of  whom  do  you  speak?  How  did  you  find 
us?" 

"I  have  known  where  you  lived  for  a  long  time," 
Baid  the  woman,  answering  Esther's  last  question 
first,  "  and  for  weeks  I  have  been  trying  to  come  to 
you  to  ask  you  to  help  me,  to  see  if  there  is  not  some 
way  to  keep  him  from  it.  But  at  first  I  was  ashamed, 
and  then  I  was  afraid,  and  now  I  fear  it  is  too  late. 
My  husband  has  forced  mother  to  help  him  bring  us 
together,  this  other  girl  and  me,"  she  added,  remem 
bering  how  incoherent  had  been  her  story.  I  know 
she  would  have  saved  me  from  this,  at  least  for  a 
time;  I  heard  her  pleading  with  him  to  wait  a  little 
longer.  She  said  the  Church  would  not  expect  it  of 
him  yet,  he  was  so  young,  and  had  been  such  a  zeal 
ous  worker.  But  he  laughed  and  scorned  her,  and 


ESTHER   THE   Q  EN  TILE.  141 

taunted  her  with  her  own  words.  It  is  all  her  fault. 
Oh!  Esther,  my  eyes  are  opened  now,  I  wish  they 
had  been  torn  from  their  sockets  first.  I  could  never 
tell  you  what  I  have  suffered.  It  has  all  ended, 
Esther,  my  beautiful  dream.  I  did  not  think  of  my 
self  as  a  Mormon  for  months,  though  in  fact  I  sup 
pose  I  never  did.  Plural  marriage  was  as  familiar 
to  me  as  the  air  I  breathed;  I  never  heard  any  one 
but  you  talk  of  anything  else.  And  then  when  he 
came  it  all  seemed  different,  I  forgot  everything  else. 
I  thought  we  were  all  in  all  to  each  other,  like  you," 
she  said,  looking  at  Mark  and  Esther. 

"I  did  not  know  enough  to  be  afraid  of  Mormon- 
ism  until  one  day  when  I  was  walking  on  the  street 
I  met  my  husband  with  a  young  woman.  He  was 
so  absorbed  in  talking  to  her  that  he  did  not  notice 
me  until  I  was  just  beside  them.  Then  he  seemed 
embarrassed,  and  if  I  had  not  stopped  I  think  he 
would  have  gone  by  without  speaking  to  me.  I 
went  up  to  him  without  hesitating,  innocently  sup 
posing  he  would  wish  to  join  me  and  to  introduce 
his  companion.  But  something  in  his  manner 
seemed  strange  and  unnatural,  arid  suddenly,  at  a 
look  from  the  girl,  he  excused  himself  to  me  and  I 
was  left  alone.  A  pang  shot  through  my  heart  that 
no  words  can  describe,  a  jealous  hate  filled  my  mind, 
and  I  turned  towards  home.  As  I  walked  along  a 
numb  sense  of  suffocation  came  over  me,  and  I  real 
ized  for  the  first  time  what  it  was  to  be  a  Mormon 
woman.  It  meant  that  my  husband  might  marry 
another.  Nothing  more,  nothing  less,  to  me.  Oh, 
10 


142  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

help  me  Esther?  Mother,  mother,  that  you  should 
have  brought  me  to  this !  How  can  any  one  be  so 
cruel?  What  can  I  do!" 

By  this  time  Mark  and  Esther  had  taken  Drusilla 
to  a  couch  and  were  trying  by  soothing  words  to  quiet 
her,  but  it  was  of  no  avail.  Her  bursting  heart  had 
overflowed  at  last,  she  had  stifled  it  as  long  as  she 
could;  and  now  that  she  had  found  Esther,  the  only 
friend  she  knew,  she  could  no  longer  control  her 
grief. 

"I  had  not  intended  to  distress  you  so,"  she  said, 
after  a  spasm  of  sobs  and  blinding  tears;  "I  only 
meant  to  come  to  you  quietly  and  ask  you  to  do 
something  if  you  could — anything,  anything,  to  pre 
vent  this  woman  from  coming  between  my  husband 
and  me.  He  is  my  husband,  Esther;  does  not  your 
husband  think  so?  He  cannot  be  hers.  You  once 
spoke  of  laws,  Esther;  are  they  of  no  avail  here,  can 
not  something  be  done?" 

"  Drusilla,"  said  Esther,  sadly,  still  holding  the  dis 
tracted  woman  by  the  hand,  "  there  is  one  way,  and 
only  one,  by  which  you  can  escape  the  life  that  is 
before  you,  with  another  sharing  your  place  as  wife, 
and  that  is  to  leave  your  husband  and  your  home  all 
to  her.  It  is  dreadful  to  say  this  to  you,  but  I  do  it 
because  this  may  be  my  only  opportunity  to  say  any 
thing  to  you.  No  words  of  mine  can  wound  you  as 
you  have  already  been  wounded.  It  would  be  neither 
kind  nor  truthful  to  bid  you  hope;  there  is  no  hope. 
You  come  to  us  for  help — we  can  but  tell  you  the 
one  way  of  escape.  That  would  have  been  impossi- 


ESTHER   THE   GENTILE.  143 

ble  once,  but  there  are  so  many  Gentiles  in  Salt  Lake 
now  that  Mark  says  a  plural  wife  can  escape  from  her 
home  if  she  wants  to.  You  know  I  do  not  consider 
this  a  moral  desertion  of  your  husband,  Drusilla,  or 
I  would  not  advise  you  to  it.  If  he  outrages  your 
love  and  desecrates  his  home  by  a  plural  marriage,  he 
has  dissolved  the  bond  that  you  believed  to  be  holy 
and  indissoluble  between  you.  Is  it  not  true?  Mark, 
would  she  not  be  justified  by  all  the  laws  we  know, 
human  and  divine,  in  leaving  her  home  under  such 
circumstances?" 

"  Indeed  she  would,  dear;  and  if  it  has  come  to  that, 
if  Drusilla  is  sure  that  Barbold  will  marry  again,  and 
she  does  not  want  to  go  back,  she  is  welcome  to  stay 
here,  and  I  will  be  glad  to  do  all  I  can  to  defend  and 
protect  her.  Curse  the  Mormon  elders!  I  would 
enjoy  it." 

"  We  know  you  love  your  husband,  Drusilla,  devot 
edly,  with  all  your  passionate  heart;  but  by  this  act 
he  wrongs  you  past  all  redress;  it  would  be  a  crime 
to  stay  with  him,"  continued  Esther,  bending  over 
the  poor  woman  whose  convulsions  of  grief  had  so 
exhausted  her  she  could  scarcely  speak,  and  whose 
silence  her  friends  construed  into  partial  acquiescence 
with  the  only  plan  they  had  to  suggest.  She  closed 
her  eyes  for  a  moment  and  inhaled  a  few  deep-drawn 
breaths,  then  slowly  rose  to  her  feet. 

"You  will  stay  with  us,  Drusilla?"  cried  Esther, 
putting  her  arms  about  the  woman  that  she  might 
not  fall. 

"No!  No!  I  will  be  revenged,"  Drusilla  said  in  a 


144  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

deep,  husky  voice,  changed,  with  the  drying  up  of 
her  tears,  from  the  desperate  gasp  of  grief  to  the  de 
termined  tone  of  despair. 

"JSTo,"  she  repeated,  "I  will  be  revenged  on  her; 
she  is  not  like  me;  he  said  I  would  have  an  excellent 
opportunity  to  show  my  saintly  qualities  by  dividing 
my  strength  with  her,"  and  Drusilla  ground  her 
teeth  together  as  she  repeated  the  bitter  sarcasm. 
"  She  is  frail  and  delicate,  her  hair  is  like  gold,  and 
her  eyes  glitter  with  a  red  glow,  like  a  serpent's,  in 
her  fair  face.  Yes,  she  needs  my  help;  she  shall 
have  it.  Farewell,  Esther,  Mr.  Branch,  my  only 
friends;  you  would  help  me  if  you  could,  I  know  it, 
I  see  it  in  your  faces,  but  there  is  no  hope;  you  can 
not  save  me,  even  from  myself." 

Esther  strained  the  now  tearless  woman  to  her 
heart,  but  could  not  speak  a  word ;  there  was  noth 
ing  more  to  say.  Mark's  eyes  were  dim,  too,  as  he 
took  her  quietly  by  the  hand. 

"Put  out  the  light,"  she  said  huskily,  "let  me  go 
out  where  I  came  in.  Do  not  come  to  the  door,  and 
do  not  follow  me;  I  may  have  to  suffer  much  for  this 
visit,  but  that  is  nothing,  it  will  be  a  comfort  to  me 
many  times  in  the  dark  future.  God  bless  you  both; 
go  away  from  this  wicked  place,  it  is  not  fit  for  such 
as  you,  the  curse  of  the  Latter  Day  Saints  is  over  it." 

When  she  had  disappeared  into  the  night,  Esther 
and  Mark  stood  with  bated  breath  until  they  were 
sure  she  must  be  far  on  her  way,  and  would  not  re 
turn.  Then  the  door  was  locked  again,  and  Esther 
burst  into  tears.  Tears  of  anguish  for  Drusilla,  and 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  145 

of  joy  and  thankfulness  for  herself.  The  peace  of 
that  humble  home,  that  had  never  known  the  blight 
of  Mormonism,  made  all  the  mockery  about  them 
seem  doubly  hideous.  When  the  morning  came 
again,  after  a  restless  night  filled  with  troubled 
dreams,  Brasilia's  visit  seemed  to  Esther  the  most 
horrible  dream  of  all,  and  it  was  many  days  before 
she  could  shut  out  from  her  mind  the  vision  of  that 
frenzied  face.  She  thought  of  that  wronged  wife  as 
a  hunted  tigress,  beating  her  life  out  in  a  vain  search 
for  help,  and  then  settling  down  to  the  calm  revenge 
of  despair. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


SOME  of  the  most  touching  incidents  of  suffering 
for  faith's  sake  that  have  ever  heen  told  of  the 
Mormons  have  pictured  the  plural  marriage  of  a  man 
who  truly  and  devotedly  loved  his  first  and  only  law 
ful  wife.  That  such  instances  are  real  there  can  be  no 
doubt.  Members  of  the  Church  of  the  Latter  Day 
Saints  who  were  not  polygamists,  and  who  openly  op 
posed  the  doctrine  of  polygamy  as  one  of  the  tenets  of 
the  Church,  have  been  trapped  with  financial  difficulty, 
and  a  plural  marriage  with  the  daughter  of  some 
prominent  elder  offered  as  the  only  possible  escape  from 
ruin.  Married  men  have  been  enticed  by  others  who 
were  "pillars  of  the  Church"  into  compromising  rela 
tions  with  women,  and  have  then  been  blackmailed  by 
the  Church  itself  until  plural  marriage  was  the  inevi 
table  end — the  only  honorable  end,  according  to  Mor 
mon  teaching.  These  things  have  been  in  Utah.  It  is 
true  that  a  loving  husband  and  father  has  brought 
to  his  home  a  plural  wife  to  crush  the  heart  of  the 
mother  of  his  children,  because,  forsooth,  the  Church 
— and  to  him  the  Church  meant  God  —  had  so  com 
manded  him  to  do.  But,  from  a  point  of  view  which 
commands  the  history  of  the  Christian  world,  is  it 
not  plain  that  genuine  instances  of  this  kind  must 
have  been  rare?  Is  there  not  in  the  heart  of  every 
human  being  born  in  the  effulgent  light  of  the  nine- 

(146) 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  147 

teenth  century,  on  American  soil,  a  revelation  which 
tells  him  that  God  never  commanded  absolute  wrong 
to  his  fellow  human  beings? 

There  have  been  gentle,  pitiable,  aye,  even  lovable, 
imbeciles,  who  have  thus  been  led  by  designing  men, 
under  the  guise  of  religion,  to  commit  this  most 
heinous  crime  against  the  sanctity  of  wedlock  and 
fatherhood,  and  hundreds  of  dull-minded  peasantry 
from  European  countries  have  become  polygamists 
through  the  same  teachings;  but  American  proselytes 
to  the  religion  of  the  Latter  Day  Saints  who  have 
desecrated  their  homes  by  plural  marriage  have  done 
so  with  the  fear  of  God  and  man  and  their  own  con 
sciences  staring  them  in  the  face.  They  have  hedged 
themselves  about  with  a  creed,  and  have  sometimes, 
no  doubt,  hoped  to  shut  out  the  inner  consciousness 
of  right  and  wrong  with  which  all  normal  human  be 
ings  are  endowed  as  the  first  proof  of  development 
above  bestial  savagery,  but  they  have  miserably 
failed.  The  result,  with  men  of  an  appreciable  de 
gree  of  intelligence,  has  always  been,  either  total  es 
trangement  from  the  first  wife  or  an  awakened  and 
relenting  conscience.  Sad  as  are  these  instances  of 
plural  marriage  among  the  Mormons,  still  more  sad, 
as  well  as  more  revolting,  are  the  immeasurably 
greater  number  that  occur  simply  because  a  species 
of  wickedness,  known  to  the  Christian  world  as  adul 
tery,  is  sanctioned,  advised  and  enjoined  by  the  Mor 
mon  church.  To  be  sure,  the  doctrine  was  revealed 
to  the  Prophet,  Joseph  Smith,  to  cover  up  his  own 
wickedness  more  than  to  license  polygamy  in  the 


148  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE, 

future,  but  the  revelation  answered  both  purposes. 
He  legitimized  his  children  for  places  of  power  which 
he  foresaw  were  to  be  in  the  kingdom  he  had  created 
in  the  credulity,  the  self-preserving  instinct  and  the 
inherited  superstition  of  ignorant  men.  He  thus 
made  it  possible  not  only  to  wed,  but  to  give  in  mar 
riage,  helpless  women,  as  suited  the  whims  and  pas 
sions  of  a  man  of  coarse  mould.  Joseph  Smith  was 
a  man  possessed  of  both  an  accidental  and  a  design 
ing  ambition.  His  discovery  of  the  Mormon  idea 
was  purely  accidental,  and  his  invention  of  the  po- 
lygamic  idea  was  mothered  both  by  his  individual 
necessities  and  the  discovery  made  by  his  intercourse 
with  other  common  men  of  their  desires.  But  his 
naturally  designing  mind  barely  kept  pace  with  the 
growth  of  the  gigantic  imposition  he  had  foisted 
upon  his  fellows.  More  than  once  it  had  almost 
toppled  to  its  fall,  and  it  was  not  Joseph  Smith,  it 
was  the  horde  of  ignorant,  stubborn  men  and  en 
slaved  women,  that  saved  the  throne  of  Zion  from 
extinction,  and  drew  it,  with  bleeding  feet,  across  the 
great  wilderness  from  the  Mississippi  river  to  Salt 
Lake. 

The  Mormon  always  protests  against  the  charge 
that  he  is  marrying  a  second  wife  from  inclination, 
he  always  does  it  to  please  the  Church.  The  fact 
that  he  is  always  prompted,  either  by  truth  or  in 
stinctive  shame  and  a  natural  sense  of  justice,  to 
defend  himself  to  himself,  and  to  hide  behind  the  com 
mands  of  the  priesthood,  should  be  proof  to  him  that 
he  is  committing  a  sin  by  plural  marriage.  It  often  is 


ESTHER   THE  GENTILE.  149 

proof  to  him ;  but  when  he  contemplates  the  fact  that 
penal  laws  are  made  for  all,  high  and  low,  Christian  and 
unbeliever  alike,  and  that  crime  often  skulks  away 
and  hides  its  hideousness  from  sight  in  all  walks  of 
life,  simply  because  of  the  attached  penalties,  it  is 
not  strange  that  there  are  men,  who,  defended  by  the 
most  impregnable  of  all  armors — a  recognized  re 
ligion —  adopt  polygamy  and  pretend  to  believe.  It 
is  putting  no  new  thing  into  any  one's  mind  to  say, 
that  there  are  men  in  all  Christian  churches  who 
merely  pretend  to  believe  their  respective  creeds, 
and  who  commit  many  wrongs  under  the  cloak  of 
their  pretended  piety.  But  there  is  both  a  moral 
and  a  legal  penalty  when  their  misdeeds  are  found 
out.  The  monstrosity  of  the  Mormon  problem  is, 
that  no  penalty  has  been  levied  upon  polygamy  that 
our  Government  seems  able  to  enforce.  The  restless, 
ever  progressive,  ever  encroaching,  native  born  and 
rightfully  dominant  American  citizen,  is  the  power 
that  is  slowly  and  surely  crushing  polygamy.  He 
has  carried  the  home,  the  newspaper,  the  schools, 
the  arts  and  the  traffic  of  the  United  States  into 
the  heart  of  the  Land  of  the  Honey  Bee,  and  noth 
ing  can  stay  their  influence.  Even  a  government 
that  is  held  in  leash  by  a  lobby  of  Mormon  elders 
who  haunt  Washington  City  like  ghouls,  and  draw 
unlimited  amounts  of  gold  from  the  toilers  of  Dese- 
ret,  is  powerless  to  retard  the  work  it  should  long 
ago  have  fostered  and  prosecuted  in  its  own  name, 
but  which  it  has  just  begun.  American  women  will 
fail  to  grasp  a  great  opportunity,  and  will  be  soul- 


150  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

lessly  unrequiting  for  the  homes  over  which  they 
reign  secure  and  supreme,  if  they  fail  to  assist  in 
bringing  about  the  day  when  a  man,  born  of  woman, 
will  not  dare  to  go  to  Washington  aB  a  counselor  of 
the  Nation  and  hesitate  to  make  a  record  on  the  Mor 
mon  question. 

Brother  Barbold  was  one  of  the  Saints  who  told 
his  wife,  when  he  condescended  to  mention  the  mat 
ter  after  meeting  her  on  the  street  in  company  with 
his  intended  plural  wife,  that  the  Church  demanded 
of  him  a  plural  marriage  as  proof  of  his  loyalty. 

It  was  expected,  or  at  least  it  was  required,  that 
the  wife  should  make  a  show  of  rejoicing  over  this 
event  in  her  husband's  career,  which  the  husband 
himself  called  a  sacrifice,  albeit  was  a  sacrifice  he 
seemed  usually  ready  to  make  when  his  superiors  in 
timated  that  it  was  time,  and,  indeed,  for  whose  sug 
gestion  as  to  time  he  did  not  always  wait.  With  the 
contradictoriness  born  of  a  woman's  pride,  when  the 
announcement  was  made  to  Drusilla,  in  cold  blood, 
that  her  husband  would  take  a  plural  wife,  she  raised 
her  head,  and  with  a  semblance  of  her  former  beauty 
shining  in  her  face,  cast  upon  him  a  disdainful  look. 
Her  eyes  were  fierce  and  bright,  her  lips  so  close 
compressed  that  Barbold's  careless  look  did  not  dis 
cover  they  were  blanched — the  ruby  color  he  had 
once  admired  all  banished  to  the  heart  he  had 
wronged. 

And  when  the  day  came  that  was  to  see  the  new 
wife  "sealed"  to  him,  Drusilla  walked  with  them  to 
the  Endowment  House  in  her  best  attire.  It  chanced 


ESTHER    THE  GENTILE.  151 

that  Mark  and  Esther  met  them  on  the  way,  a  pain 
ful  incident,  no  doubt,  to  the  gay  wedding  party. 
Barbold  and  the  bride  elect  came  together,  and  be 
hind  them  walked  Drusilla,  the  wife,  and  her  mother, 
Elizabeth.  It  is  enough  to  tear  a  mother's  heart 
strings  to  imagine  just  what  that  mother's  feelings 
must  have  been.  Hardened,  bigoted,  selfish  though 
she  was,  unless  her  very  soul  had  left  the  body,  her 
retribution  must  have  been  great.  It  would  have 
broken  any  but  an  iron  will. 

Esther  could  only  look  at  Drusilla  iu  passing  and 
try  to  express  to  her  an  atom  of  the  womanly  sym 
pathy  she  felt.  But  Mark  said  Elizabeth's  lips 
moved  convulsively,  notwithstanding  her  effort  to 
hold  them  unflinchingly  firm,  and  her  rigid  and  un 
compromising  refusal  to  look  either  to  the  right  or 
to  the  left.  Barbold's  face  flushed  red  for  an  instant 
with  honest  shame,  and  the  poor,  thoughtless  crea 
ture  at  his  side  looked  around  with  a  gay  toss  of  the 
head  already  doomed  to  be  so  weary. 

As  soon  as  they  had  passed  by  Esther  insisted 
upon  going  to  Elizabeth's  house  with  the  hope  of 
seeing  her  father,  and  as  speedily  as  possible  they 
went  to  that  part  of  the  city.  They  knocked  softly 
that  they  might  not  too  roughly  disturb  the  invalid, 
aud  then  loud  and  long,  but  no  response  greeted 
them.  Though  they  waited,  and  returned  again, 
the  door  remained  closed  and  all  was  silent  as  the 
grave. 

"  Could  it  be,"  said  Esther,  "  that  my  poor  father 
would  die,  and  I  not  know  it?  Would  they  be  so 


152  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

cruel  as  to  put  him  away  and  never  tell  me?"  Mark 
comforted  her  as  he  could,  and  resolved  to  come 
again  that  evening  after  the  wedding  party  had  re 
turned  and  learn  the  truth  concerning  Mr.  Wain- 
wright. 

In  the  meantime  young  Barbold  had  led  another 
woman  up  the  steps  and  into  the  door  where,  not 
many  months  before,  Elizabeth  had  proudly  led  the 
way  while  he  and  Drusilla  followed.  It  cannot  be 
truthfully  said  that  he  gloated  over  the  misery  he 
knew  he  had  brought  upon  his  wife,  but  the  not 
unnatural  satisfaction  he  felt  in  Elizabeth's  discom 
posure  almost  blotted  out  any  thought  his  selfish 
heart  might  have  held  for  Drusilla.  He  had  heard 
Elizabeth  plot  and  plan  for  her  own  preferment  in 
the  councils  of  the  Church  through  his  elevation, 
until  he  had  acquired  an  appetite  for  some  kind  of 
retaliation.  Somewhat  to  his  surprise  he  discovered 
that  he  had  found  it  when  he  told  this  zealous  advo 
cate  of  plural  marriage  that  he  was  going  to  enter 
into  polygamy;  that  to  her  daughter  he  would  bring 
a  helpmeet  and  friend  to  share  her  place  as  wife. 
Not  for  worlds  would  Elizabeth  have  shown  a  quiv 
ering  lip  and  a  dimmed  eye  to  this  brazen  man, 
whose  few  and  coarse  conditions  of  mind  permitted 
him  only  to  rejoice  in  his  own  triumph  and  her 
chagrin.  Of  her  real  suffering  he  had  no  concep 
tion.  Like  a  frame  of  iron  Elizabeth  moved  through 
the  fatal  door  when  they  reached  it,  and  as  they 
passed  the  portal  she  clutched  Drusilla  by  the  arm, 
else  she  would  have  fallen.  No  one  noticed  it  but 


ESTHER    THE   OENTILE.  153 


the  mother,  and  as  they  walked  arm  in  arm  through 
the  desolate  passages  and  into  the  cursed  apartment 
where  women  are  chained  in  the  most  degrading 
slavery  ever  tolerated  in  an  enlightened  land,  it  was 
supposed  that  filial  and  maternal  affection  drew  to 
gether  in  this  hour  of  solemn  duty  this  mother  and 
daughter  in  the  Church  of  Zion. 

On  one  side  of  the  altar  over  which  so  many  blas 
phemous  vows  have  been  made,  knelt  Barbold;  on 
the  other,  Drusilla  with  her  white  face,  her  black 
hair  and  her  dry,  shining  eyes;  beside  her  the  woman 
with  the  fair  hair  and  the  painted  face,  and  eyes 
which  bespoke  a  soul  that  had  as  yet  sounded  only 
the  depths  of  a  shallow  vanity,  a  soul  that  happily 
slept  undreaming  of  the  foundations  and  realities  of 
a  woman's  life. 

Brigham  Young  performed  the  sacrificial  cere 
mony. 

Addressing  Drusilla,  he  said: 

"Are  you  willing  to  give  this  woman  to  your  hus 
band  to  be  his  lawful  wife  for  time  and  for  all  eter 
nity?  If  you  are,  you  will  signify  it  by  placing  her 
right  hand  in  the  right  hand  of  your  husband." 

Drusilla  lifted  the  waiting  hand  beside  her  own 
and  laid  it  in  her  husband's  outstretched  palm.  A 
noise  like  a  death  rattle  sounded  in  her  throat,  but 
no  one  heeded.  All  unmoved  sat  the  priests  and 
elders  whose  presence  gave  sanction  to  this  holocaust. 
Why  should  they  flinch  at  a  woman's  stifling  gasp? 
They  had  seen  the  part  of  the  doomed  Drusilla 
played  so  often  that  their  hearts  were  steeled.  No 


154  ESTHER    THE  GENTILE. 

woman's  wail  could  ever  again  awaken  in  them  a 
man's  response. 

Again  Elizabeth's  supporting  arm  guided  her 
daughter,  and,  almost  unnoticed,  now  that  she  had 
bestowed  the  bride  upon  her  husband  according  to 
the  rules  of  the  Church,  Drusilla  was  permitted  to 
escape  ere  she  fainted  on  the  floor.  Then,  like  the 
victims  in  the  long  procession  that  had  preceded 
her,  she  wended  her  way  home,  with  only  the  arm 
of  a  mother,  against  whom  there  raged  a  fierce  fire 
in  her  bosom,  to  lean  upon.  Had  she  been  able  to 
walk  alone  she  would  have  spurned  even  that  sup 
port,  but  her  pride  had  burned  out,  and  she  could 
not  go  alone. 


CHAPTER  xvm. 


eSTHER  was  so  overcome  with  apprehension  and 
grief  concerning  her  father  that  her  husband 
felt  anxious  for  her  life.  He  hurried  home  with  her 
and  tried  to  calm  her  mind  and  allay  her  fears,  so 
that  he  could  leave  her  while  he  returned  to  Eliza 
beth's  house  to  find  out  what  had  become  of  Mr. 
Wainwright.  Esther  was  at  first  quite  determined 
to  go  with  him;  she  felt  that  she  must  know  the 
truth  at  once,  and  she  feared  to  stay  alone,  but  Mark 
said  he  would  not  risk  having  her  witness  a  possible 
stormy  interview  between  himself  and  Elizabeth,  and 
he  would  go  alone.  An  old  woman,  once  a  Mormon* 
but  now  a  deserted  wife,  who  supported  herself  by 
doing  odds  and  ends  of  work,  and  who  had  found  a 
good  friend  in  Esther,  lived  near  them,  and  Mark 
brought  her  to  keep  his  wife  company  and  be  to  her 
some  slight  protection  until  his  return.  Not  that  he 
thought  of  any  real  danger  to  Esther,  but  he  had  al 
ways  a  mysterious  dread  of  leaving  her  even  for  an 
hour,  the  place  was  so  full  of  mysteries,  as  well  as  of 
horrible  realities.  As  soon  as  Esther  was  fully  satis 
fied  that  she  could  not  accompany  her  husband  she 
was  impatient  for  him  to  be  off  without  her.  Her 
mind  was  filled  with  remorse  for  the  things  she  imag 
ined  she  might  have  done  for  her  father,  and  any  fur- 

(155) 


156  ESTHER    THE   Q  EN  TILE. 

ther  delay  in  learning  his  real  fate  seemed  intolerable 
to  her.  So,  with  many  fond  farewells,  Mark  left  her. 
It  was  then  about  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and 
he  said  he  would  be  back  before  it  was  dark,  for  the 
night  time  had  never  lost  its  terrors  for  Esther,  nor 
indeed  for  any  in  that  city  who  were  familiar  with 
the  far-reaching  and  stealthy  arms  of  that  monster, 
Blood  Atonement.  It  was  like  the  slimy  octopus, 
deadly  and  hideous  in  its  native  element,  though 
powerless  and  intangible  in  the  searching  sunlight. 
Esther  well  knew  that  its  requirements  could  reach 
her  husband,  though  it  was  ostensibly  for  deserters 
of  the  faith,  and  he  was  no  sooner  gone  than  she  for 
got  all  fears  for  herself  and  remembered  the  times 
without  number  when  she  had  begged  him  not  to  go 
upon  the  streets  after  nightfall.  To  make  the  time 
seem  as  short  as  possible,  she  drew  a  cup  of  tea  and 
set  a  dainty  bit  for  her  old  companion,  but  this  atten 
tion  had  the  effect  of  loosening  a  garrulous  tongue 
that  rarely  knew  a  kind  listener,  and  the  stories  of 
her  former  sufferings,  and  the  scenes  she  had  wit 
nessed  when  she  was  "young  and  bonnie  and  not 
long  o'er  fra  auld  Scotland,"  but  doubled  Esther's 
fears,  and  she  went  often  to  the  door  to  look  for  the 
coming  of  her  husband.  By  and  by  the  light  grew 
dim  and  she  strained  her  eyes  through  the  gloom  to 
imagine  she  saw  him  beside  every  tree  and  at  every 
corner,  only  to  be  disappointed  and  go  shivering  back 
to  her  fireside.  Then  even  the  mountains  faded  from 
view,  and  slowly  a  thin  gray  cloud  crept  over  the  city 
from  their  tops,  the  stars  failed  to  pierce  it,  and  be- 


ESTHER   THE  GENTILE.  157 

fore  an  hour  of  darkness  had  passed  a  quiet,  weeping 
rain  began  to  fall.  But  for  the  old  dame's  restraining 
hand  Esther  would  have  gone  through  the  night  to 
seek  her  husband;  she  held  her  back  and  so  fright 
ened  her  at  last  with  tales  of  horror  that  she  dared 
not  even  look  out.  Mark  had  made  the  woman 
promise  that  whatever  might  betide  him,  she  would 
keep  Esther  at  home  and  protect  her  with  her  life 
until  his  return.  One  who  did  not  know  her  history 
might  think  her  but  poor  protection  for  a  young  and 
defenseless  woman,  but  Mark  knew  and  trusted  her 
not  without  cause.  It  was  not  merely  her  imagina 
tion  that  enabled  her  to  paint  a  lurking  member  of 
the  vigilance  force  at  every  door  and  gateway  and 
street  corner,  and  to  Esther's  excited  mind  they 
seemed  a  cordon  of  bloody  giants  whose  ranks  she 
could  no  more  pierce  than  she  could  escape  them  by 
going  either  above  or  below  the  earth.  She  was 
chained  with  terror  when  she  would  have  gone 
through  any  degree  of  rage  of  the  elements  to  save 
the  man  she  loved.  The  hours  wore  away,  as  they 
will  even  when  human  flesh  and  human  hearts  seem 
unable  to  bear  one  moment  more  of  suspense.  Not 
even  the  wind  blew  to  break  the  awful  stillness; 
everything  seemed  black  and  dead.  After  nine 
o'clock  not  a  footfall  was  heard,  the  streets  were 
deserted  of  man  and  beast,  and  it  seemed  to  Esther 
that  everybody,  like  herself,  must  be  hiding  from 
the  terrors  of  the  darkness. 

Pages  could  not  tell  the  story  of  that  night.     It 
were  as  well  to  say  it  all  passed  by.     The  expectant 
11 


158  ESTIIER    THE  GENTILE. 

hours  of  early  evening;  the  midnight  milestone,  be 
yond  which  it  seemed  to  Esther  she  saw  the  black 
ness  of  despair;  the  long  hours  between  that  turning 
point  and  the  darkest  hour  of  all,  just  when  the  creep 
ing  light  of  day  puts  out  the  light  of  night — all  these 
awful  hours  passed  by  in  slow  and  solemn  procession, 
and  yet  he  came  not. 

But  with  the  first  tinge  of  color  in  the  eastern  sky 
came  courage  and  hope  to  Esther's  heart,  and,  casting 
from  her  the  restraining  arm  of  her  old  friend,  she 
burst  into  the  street  and  fled  with  winged  feet  toward 
Elizabeth's  house.  A  heavy  shawl  which  the  old 
dame  had  wrapped  about  her  in  the  night  was  drawn 
over  her  head,  and  she  looked  like  a  gray  ghost  flee 
ing  from  the  betokened  day.  Faster  and  faster  her 
feverish  strength  carried  her,  until  she  reached  the 
door  beyond  which  she  was  to  learn  the  fate  of  both 
husband  and  father.  It  was  like  opening  the  gates 
of  the  valley  of  the  shadow,  and  for  an  instant  all 
grew  black  before  her  straining  eyes;  but  that  was 
no  time  to  fail,  the  heart  that  had  borne  so  much 
whispered  courage,  and  Esther  grasped  the  old  fa 
miliar  latch  with  a  firm  hand.  It  yielded  quickly — 
indeed,  it  stood  ajar  as  if  for  her  to  enter,  or  as  if  it, 
too,  had  been  opened  often  in  the  night  by  some  one 
who  looked  forth  expectantly,  or  as  if  it  had  been 
hurriedly  left  by  some  one  who  had  escaped  its  fast 
enings.  Which  was  it?  All  these  things  flashed 
through  her  mind  as  she  crossed  the  threshold,  and, 
without  pausing,  hastened  to  her  father's  room. 

There,  also,  the  door  stood  unlatched  for  her  en- 


ESTHER    THE   Q  EN  TILE.  159 

trance,  and  when  she  pushed  it  noiselessly  open  two 
pairs  of  eyes  absorbed  her  as  a  vision  from  heaven, 
two  pairs  of  arms  were  stretched  to  embrace  her; 
but  Mark  motioned  her  to  the  saintly  face  upon  the 
pillow,  from  which  beamed  the  effulgence  of  life  even 
through  the  pallor  of  death,  the  newly-awakened  life 
of  the  mind  kindled  by  the  expiring  spark,  and  fanned 
into  radiance  by  the  sound  of  the  light  step  that  had 
just  entered. 

They  were  alone  in  the  room,  Mr.  Wainwright  and 
Mark,  the  one  on  the  pillow  looking  younger  by  a 
score  of  years,  and  the  other  older  by  a  decade,  than 
when  Esther  had  beheld  their  faces  last. 

The  feeble  arms  into  which  she  sank  closed  round 
her  with  the  gentle  pressure  which  alone  their  fast 
departing  strength  could  give,  but  in  it  she  felt  the 
transport  of  a  father's  love  and  the  benison  of  a  pure 
soul. 

It  was  her  husband  who  unclasped  the  tired  arms 
that  lingered  lovingly,  even  in  death,  around  the 
form  of  this  sweet  daughter,  and  laid  them  gently 
upon  the  couch,  from  which  they  never  more  need 
reach  with  hungry  longing,  for  Esther  had  come. 
They  stood  a  moment,  hand  in  hand,  and  gazed  upon 
the  old  man's  peaceful  countenance;  then  Mark  said : 
"It  was  of  such  a  face  that  Jean  Paul  said,  'It  is  a 
benediction  for  all  mankind."3 

They  covered  it,  and  left  him  lying  in  that  restful 
sleep,  while  Mark  took  Esther  to  his  heart,  and  tears 
of  joy  rained  from  her  burning  eyes — joy  that  she 
had  found  him  safe,  and  that  she  had  met  her  father, 


160  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

the  same  loving  father  as  of  old,  on  the  border  land 
of  the  great  heyond,  the  region  of  hope  and  faith  to 
which  he  was  so  glad  to  go,  and  from  which  she 
could  not  wish  him  back. 

And  then  the  story  of  the  night  was  told,  and 
none  disturbed  their  vigil,  nor  came  to  pay  the  trib 
ute  of  a  look  to  the  old  man.  Mark  had  knocked  at 
the  street  door  in  the  early  evening,  but  no  one  an 
swered  him.  Hearing  loud  noises  within,  he  entered, 
and  appeared  unannounced  in  Mr.  Wainwright's 
room,  where  Elizabeth  and  Barbold  and  an  elder  of 
the  Church  were  hovering  around  the  bed  on  which 
the  victim  lay,  like  vultures  'round  their  hopeless 
prey.  Barbold  was  trying  to  stiffen  the  lax  fingers 
to  hold  a  pen,  the  elder  stretched  a  legal  paper 
near,  waiting  to  receive  a  signature  which  even  they 
could  not  ignore,  while  Elizabeth  poured  into  the 
patient  but  fast  deafening  ear  a  plea  for  the  Church. 
One  little  word,  his  name,  she  said,  would  give  the 
New  Zion  more  than  all  his  former  gifts  combined. 
They  had  found  more  land,  a  neglected  corner  not 
included  in  the  deed  by  which  his  possessions  had 
been  transferred  to  the  Church.  Surely  he  must  re 
member  it;  it  lay  across  the  highway  from  the  old 
homestead,  and  was  rocky  and  barren;  Barbold  was 
sure  it  belonged  to  Mr.  "Wainwright;  it  had  come  to 
him  through  his  wife's  family,  this  astute  gentleman 
presumed. 

"Why  it  had  not  been  thought  of  and  claimed  long 
ago  he  could  not  now  conceive,  but  he  could  tell  very 
well  that  it  was  coveted  now  because  discoveries  had 


ESTHER  THE  GENTILE.  161 

been  made  which  gave  assurance  that  its  hidden 
treasures  were  of  great  value,  even  richer  than  those 
found  on  the  old  homestead,  and  confiscated  by  the 
Mormon  elders. 

Whether  the  attempt  to  secure  the  transfer  of  this 
newly-discovered  prize  from  the  dying  man  to  the 
Church  was  made  because  they  thought  he  was  past 
finding  out  their  real  intentions  and  would  yield  un 
resistingly  to  their  directions,  or  whether  they  saw 
in  him  a  gleam  of  intelligence,  and  hoped  to  secure 
the  land  beyond  all  question  by  persuading  him  to 
will  it  to  them  in  his  right  mind,  Mark  could  not 
tell,  but  he  had  not  been  in  the  room  long  when  he 
thought  he  detected  a  look  of  comprehension  in  the 
old  man's  face,  though  he  could  see  also  the  unmis 
takable  approach  of  the  end. 

The  men  and  Elizabeth  were  all  so  intent  upon  se 
curing  Mr.  Wainwright's  signature  that  they  had  no 
time  to  resent  Mark's  intrusion,  and  after  a  black 
glance  from  the  elder,  and  a  dogged  one  from  Bar- 
bold,  he  had  time  to  note  that  Elizabeth  did  not 
pierce  him  with  her  gray  eye  as  she  had  done  at 
their  former  meetings,  and  to  discover  also  that 
whenever  she  relaxed  her  efforts  to  make  Mr.  "Wain- 
wright  understand  what  was  required  of  him  a  blow 
from  Barbold's  gleaming  eyes  would  have  the  effect 
of  redoubling  her  endeavors. 

The  elder  finally  asked  him  to  leave  the  room  and 
wait  in  the  outer  chamber,  and  Barbold  informed  him 
that  they  were  in  trouble,  and  that  was  no  place  for 
a  stranger;  but  Mark  had  come  with  a  determined 


162  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 

purpose  this  time,  and  he  remained,  watching  the 
face  on  the  pillow  for  another  gleam  of  light.  It 
came  after  a  while,  and  Elizabeth  plead  more  ear 
nestly  than  before  for  the  signature  which  would  give 
so  much  to  Zion  and  its  people. 

Mark  then  stepped  to  the  old  man's  side,  took  the 
hand  which  Barbold  dropped,  as  a  man  of  his  mould 
would  let  go  even  the  thing  he  most  longed  for  on 
earth  at  the  approach  of  a  brave  spirit,  and  de 
manded  to  know  what  they  wanted,  and  why  they 
were  persecuting,  at  death's  door,  the  man  they  had 
driven  there  before  his  time?  Slowly  the  old  man's 
head  turned  on  its  pillow,  and  his  white  brows  drew 
together  to  concentrate  his  gaze  upon  the  stranger. 
The  trio  drew  back  a  pace  and  gazed  also.  Slowly 
he  seemed  to  know,  and  a  light  shone  through  the 
dimmed  windows  of  his  soul.  He  put  forth  his  other 
hand  and  clasped  Mark's  as  a  long  lost  child  would 
clasp  a  father's.  After  a  little  time  he  looked  un 
easily  towards  the  waiting  group,  and  said  appeal- 
ingly,  "  Tell  them  it  is  not  mine,  they  will  not  believe 
me.  I  have  nothing  more  to  give;  they  have  it  all, 
and  I  am  done  with  it/' 

"What  is  it  you  want?"  Mark  demanded  again. 

"With  a  last  hope  of  somehow  securing  his  help, 
Barbold  came  forward  with  the  document  he  still 
held  in  his  hand,  and  which  purported  to  bequeath 
the  stony  field,  and  all  other  possible  effects  belong 
ing  to  Mr.  "Wainwright,  to  the  Church  of  the  Latter 
Day  Saints. 

After  looking  at  it  a  moment,  Mark  said:  "Gen- 


ESTHER    THE   O  EN  TILE.  163 

tlemen,  you  need  trouble  yourselves  no  more  con 
cerning  this  piece  of  laud;  it  does  not  belong  to  Mr. 
Waiuwright,  and  never  did,  though  it  belongs  now  to 
his  daughter.  It  was  bequeathed  to  her  by  Mr. 
Blounce.  It  may  interest  you,  Mr.  Barbold,  to  know 
that  Ezekiel  Blounce  discovered  the  value  of  that 
piece  of  land  many  years  ago,  and  during  one  sum 
mer  vacation  he  made  a  journey  to  the  West,  where 
the  owner  of  it  had  gone,  and  purchased  it.  The 
will  he  left  when  he  died  bequeathed  it  to  my  wife. 

The  baffled  company  of  Mormons  hesitated  but  a 
moment  upon  the  order  of  their  going,  and  then  left 
Mark  alone  with  the  life  flickering  in  its  almost  worn 
out  socket.  It  was  not  until  the  door  had  closed  be 
hind  them,  and  the  sound  of  their  footsteps  had  died 
away,  that  the  old  man  whispered,  "Esther,"  and 
almost  started  up  from  his  bed  in  his  eagerness  to 
hear.  " Safe  and  well,"  responded  Mark.  "I  would 
give  a  world  if  she  were  here.  Can  I  go  for  her? 
Can  you  wait?  She  will  come  instantly." 

A  look  of  horror  spread  over  the  old  man's  face 
almost  before  the  words  were  uttered. 

"Don't  leave  me,  don't  leave  me,"  he  begged,  and 
turned  a  frightened  look  towards  the  door;  "they 
would  never  let  you  come  near  me  again,  nor  Esther 
either;  I  would  die  here  alone  with  them." 

"She  will  come,  will  she  not?"  he  resumed  pit- 
eously  after  a  moment;  "oh,  yes,  surely  she  will  come 
now;  stay  with  me  and  wait  for  her."  The  beseech 
ing  look  upon  his  face,  as  much  as  the  words  he 
spoke,  urged  Mark  to  consent  to  stay. 


164  ESTHER    THE   GENTILE. 


Though  he  knew  how  much  Esther  would  suffer 
in  his  absence,  he  knew,  too,  that  she  would  have 
him  stay  by  her  father.  It  was  doubtless  true,  that  if 
he  left  Mr.  "Wainwright  to  fetch  Esther,  neither  of 
them  would  be  admitted  again,  and  the  old  man 
would  die  friendless.  It  could  not  be  long  now,  but 
as  Mark  looked  into  the  weary  eyes  of  the  old  man 
he  determined  to  keep  the  spark  in  the  body  until 
Esther  would  come,  if  that  were  possible. 

He  trusted  her  guardian  to  keep  her  through  the 
night,  but  he  knew  she  would  come  with  the  morn 
ing,  and,  though  he  suffered  with  her,  and  for  her, 
throughout  the  long  watch,  and  would  have  gone  to 
her  through  almost  insuperable  dangers  to  himself, 
for  her  sake,  and  her  father's,  he  staid,  cheering, 
encouraging,  promising  the  rich  reward,  the  long 
night  through.  And  then  she  came,  just  in  time  to 
hear  the  last  fond  farewell. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


Y^LIAS  WAIN  WRIGHT  was  laid  to  rest  in  the  old 
^>^  country  churchyard  in  Pineborough  township, 
beside  Esther's  mother.  His  children's  hands  bore 
him  lovingly  thither,  far  away  from  the  scene  of  his 
suffering,  and  of  the  slow  fading  out  of  the  faculties 
of  suffering.  No  objection  was  made  by  any  of  his 
persecutors  to  the  removal  of  the  empty  clay,  it  was 
worthless  to  them.  They  had  taken  all  he  had  to 
give,  his  money  and  his  life;  what  could  they  want 
more? 

Much  as  she  had  borne  for  his  sake,  and  great  as 
had  been  the  cost  of  his  delusion  to  her,  Esther  had 
no  resentful  thoughts.  She  knew  when  she  followed 
the  silent  form  to  the  old  home,  that  it  was  the  spirit 
of  a  martyr  that  had  gone  before;  and  when  she  stood 
beneath  the  trees  that  had  sheltered  them  both  in  the 
peaceful  days  of  her  childhood  she  knew  that  upon 
that  place,  if  upon  any  mundane  spot,  his  spirit 
looked  down  and  cast  a  blessing. 

Elizabeth's  zeal  long  ago  stung  her  to  death. 

Elder  Bean,  as  a  last  means  of  grace,  is  generously 
contributing  to  the  Mormon  lobby  fund  at  Washing 
ton. 

Barbold  is  a  shining  light  in  the  Church  of  the 
Latter  Day  Saints.  His  father  disinherited  him,  but 
he  has  reaped  rich  harvests  from  the  fields  of  the 

(165) 


166  ESTHER    THE  GENTILE. 


Land  of  the  Honey  Bee.  Each  of  his  several  wives, 
except  the  frail  butterfly  which  his  cruel  breath  soon 
withered,  has  a  mansion  of  her  own,  goodly  and  fair 
to  see  externally,  but  black  within  as  the  ancient  feu 
dal  dungeons  whose  prisoners  were  lowered  into 
them  through  narrow  wells  hundreds  of  feet  deep, 
and  whose  walls  were  solid  rock,  echoless,  relentless. 
Like  those  victims  of  old,  nothing  but  death  can  free 
them.  The  racks  of  torture,  the  binding  corselet  of 
steel,  the  scourging  and  starvation  of  the  body,  were 
slight  punishments,  as  administered  in  those  deep, 
dark  strongholds,  compared  with  the  anguish  of  soul 
that  is  suffered  by  Mormon  wives  in  the  light  of  the 
nineteenth  century  on  free  American  soil. 

Esther  is  the  queen  of  a  home  that  has  never  known 
the  blighting  breath  of  doubt  and  fear.  You  will 
not  forget  her,  dear  reader,  for  she  is  happy,  and  all 
delight  to  know  a  happ}^  woman;  but  oh,  ye  men 
and  ye  women,  ye  husbands  and  ye  wives,  ye  fathers 
and  ye  mothers,  forget  not  the  woman  for  whom  she 
prays — the  unhappy  Drusilla,  who  yet  wanders  in 
the  streets  of  Salt  Lake  City,  the  Sodom  of  the  Occi 
dent,  where  the  licentiousness  that  destroyed  the 
ancient  city  is  practiced,  not  in  defiance  of  the  ac 
knowledged  laws  of  righteousness,  but  under  the 
cloak  of  Christianity  and  the  protection  of  both 
Government  and  priesthood.  Outcast  and  yet  en 
slaved,  hopeless,  helpless,  this  first  wife  is  alone  in  a 
multitude  of  victims.  The  beauty  that  was  born  of 
love  long  ago  departed  from  her  face;  she  is  gaunt- 
eyed  and  pale;  and  at  her  side  totters  a  boy,  a  little 


ESTHER    THE   GENTILE.  167 

child  whose  soul  was  fashioned  by  the  infamy  of  the 
Church  of  Latter  Day  Saints,  and  the  cowardice  of  a 
Government  that  failed  to  govern;  a  child  in  the  tiny 
chambers  of  whose  heart  contended  revenge  and  hate 
and  outraged  love  ere  yet  he  breathed  the  breath  of 
life.  He  looks  up  at  his  mother's  disheveled  locks 
flying  in  the  western  wind  and  wonders  whither  she 
is  leading  him. 

Whither,  indeed? 

Is  he  being  reared  to  curse  another  woman's  life? 

Where  shall  they  find  friends,  this  woman  and  this 
child,  if  not  in  you,  the  guardians  of  the  happy  homes 
of  these  brave  United  States? 


M 


^•'wget.yai 

W9R 

iwm 


University  of  California 

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